Since I’ve dropped out of graduate school I’ve had a lot more free time so to distract myself from my mania I’m working at my college job again. I’m sealing boys (here I’ll dumb that down, making blacktops look black) and reaping some of the awards recently. Since I’m outside all day I’ve been bronzing something fierce and my tan looks T.A.N. (It helps that I have some Indian in me too, yeah I’m half Cherokee and Choctaw, my baby she’s a Chikiwawa, she’s a one of a kiiiiiiind). I’ve also lost close to 25 pounds since the summer began (it’s nice to not lose your breath when you get up to go to the refrigerator). I also sealed my high school the other day and when I went inside to piss some funny stories came rushing back to me.
One of them involved my brother Poncho, a free sitting commode in the boy’s bathroom without a stall, our in-awe Athletic Director, our shell shocked Biology teacher and a nasty case of the shit grunts and hollers from my brother on the exposed pot (side hurting hilarious at the time). Another involved me losing my V-Card my senior year (yeah Mom this post will probably be one of the ones you are “unsure” about so you might want to stop reading—Happy Belated Birthday and that warning was part of my gift).
It was my senior year spring break and one of my good friends John Boy and I made our way down to Florida with my parents for spring break. We stayed in a retirement village (not really but there wasn’t many spring breakers there our age). Anyhow there were a few soccer girls that we ended up impressing my talking with lisps and acting gay (I wish that wasn’t true). One of these girls took a liking to yours truly and then took his V-Card. It definitely wasn’t like any of the porno’s I had seen leading up to this rite of passage into manhood either. Instead of the screams and moans I was prepared for, it was actually a pretty somber and quiet experience and I think she even fell asleep during it (yea, I like to keep the ladies satisfied). I definitely built the whole experience up too much in my head prior to.
I tend to have the same problem nowadays when it comes to finding a new doctor. I’ve decided to start looking for one that’s a little closer than the hour and a half I’m driving now. This will be about the tenth doctor I’ve tried or been in contact with since my diagnosis yet I still get excited about the thought. I suppose I still believe that I’m going to find that doc that actually makes living with this BMD easier. I have these big expectations that I’m going to have this awesome relationship with my new doc and all the disdain feelings from the medical hassle and battles I’ve fought prior to will disappear. I hope I’m not building myself up for another let down. It’s just that I can handle being pretty shitty in the sack but it sure as shit would be nice to at least have a doc that doesn’t make me feel even more crazy while I’m doing it.
Side Note: I forgot to mention it earlier but the best part about my V-Card story is that John Boy had a surprise for me the morning of the first day back to school. Seeing how we never locked our lockers (I don’t have time to mess with combinations) he was able to leave a welcome back collage on the inside of my locker. Yep, he found my girls pictures online (God bless the Internet) and printed off a bunch and taped them to the inside of my locker (cured my case of the Mondays).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, July 29, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 28
I’ve always seemed to have a tough time finishing in my life. It took me a couple times to get through kindergarten (stupid home address and me not knowing it), I never seemed to be able to dial the last number to my crushes home phone line (where was texting when I needed a comfort blanket of non-contact human communication), fifth year senior in undergrad, just dropped out of graduate school, woke up in a psych ward two weeks before my move to San Jose, and the list can go on and on. I’ve come to realize though that it’s out of my control, I really don’t have much say in the matter.
What reminded me of this is a picture hanging up in my high school as you walk in the doors (don’t act like you’re not impressed).
I zoomed in on myself to give you the full visual effect of why I was a virgin until I was 19. In any manner this picture was of a state track championship team in which I did nothing to help earn (literally nothing). I was in less control of winning that trophy than the person who actually made the trophy. Now on the contrary my senior year in track I actually did have a lot of control, or so I thought.
I was a hurdler and coming into the State meet had won both my regionals in the 300 intermediate hurdles and the 110 high hurdles. I was a favorite in the 110’s and considered competitive in the 300’s for the titles. 16 guys make it to state from the regionals and the prelims/qualifiers the day before State get the field down to 8 (just enough for the 8 lanes on the track, very clever OHSAA).
At this point in my life I had decided to essentially walk-on a DIII soccer team in the fall for college and hadn’t thought about track as a future. Since I was walking on a DIII school you get the gist that I wasn’t really recruited, so much so that most would say not even a little bit. Well the folks from Kansas had seen my academics and began lightly recruiting me at the State meet to run there if I could perform well during the weekend. All I had to do was finish this and I’d be set.
The 110’s qualifier was first and I was out and running well. Leading the race until the last few hurdles when I turned my ankle to the outside and watched 4 guys wiz by me for the only four spots in the final the next day. Once again I couldn’t finish (and I didn’t take it well) but I luckily had the 300’s the next day to (I qualified for those somehow despite my pure devastation from the 110’s)make it right. And damn it if I wasn’t making it right. Coming down to the final 100 meters and 3 hurdles left I was in second place closing in on the leader. Then I heard the worst sound I’ve ever heard in sports; 10,000 people in unison going:
“Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
Yep that was for me. I clipped the 8th out of 10 hurdles and fell (also the first time I fell in the 300’s in four years). I was able to look up in time to see the entire field cross over the final two hurdles and through the finish line (bye bye Kansas) while I was on all fours in the middle of the track. I just couldn’t finish again, like I never was supposed to or something.
I have trouble with the notion that I’m not in control of what happens in my life. I feel as though I should be able to control what path my life will take when in fact it’s anything but that. No matter how much I belive I can control, it’s really not up to me. It never was. I mean if I would have finished anything I’ve listed above I sure as shit wouldn’t be here today. An while at times this BMD really seems like a pain in the ass because of this, I need to realize it’s really not up to me. I’m not in control and whether I know how to or not (more likely not) I’m going to have to finish this thing, I don’t have a choice.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
What reminded me of this is a picture hanging up in my high school as you walk in the doors (don’t act like you’re not impressed).
I zoomed in on myself to give you the full visual effect of why I was a virgin until I was 19. In any manner this picture was of a state track championship team in which I did nothing to help earn (literally nothing). I was in less control of winning that trophy than the person who actually made the trophy. Now on the contrary my senior year in track I actually did have a lot of control, or so I thought.
I was a hurdler and coming into the State meet had won both my regionals in the 300 intermediate hurdles and the 110 high hurdles. I was a favorite in the 110’s and considered competitive in the 300’s for the titles. 16 guys make it to state from the regionals and the prelims/qualifiers the day before State get the field down to 8 (just enough for the 8 lanes on the track, very clever OHSAA).
At this point in my life I had decided to essentially walk-on a DIII soccer team in the fall for college and hadn’t thought about track as a future. Since I was walking on a DIII school you get the gist that I wasn’t really recruited, so much so that most would say not even a little bit. Well the folks from Kansas had seen my academics and began lightly recruiting me at the State meet to run there if I could perform well during the weekend. All I had to do was finish this and I’d be set.
The 110’s qualifier was first and I was out and running well. Leading the race until the last few hurdles when I turned my ankle to the outside and watched 4 guys wiz by me for the only four spots in the final the next day. Once again I couldn’t finish (and I didn’t take it well) but I luckily had the 300’s the next day to (I qualified for those somehow despite my pure devastation from the 110’s)make it right. And damn it if I wasn’t making it right. Coming down to the final 100 meters and 3 hurdles left I was in second place closing in on the leader. Then I heard the worst sound I’ve ever heard in sports; 10,000 people in unison going:
“Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
Yep that was for me. I clipped the 8th out of 10 hurdles and fell (also the first time I fell in the 300’s in four years). I was able to look up in time to see the entire field cross over the final two hurdles and through the finish line (bye bye Kansas) while I was on all fours in the middle of the track. I just couldn’t finish again, like I never was supposed to or something.
I have trouble with the notion that I’m not in control of what happens in my life. I feel as though I should be able to control what path my life will take when in fact it’s anything but that. No matter how much I belive I can control, it’s really not up to me. It never was. I mean if I would have finished anything I’ve listed above I sure as shit wouldn’t be here today. An while at times this BMD really seems like a pain in the ass because of this, I need to realize it’s really not up to me. I’m not in control and whether I know how to or not (more likely not) I’m going to have to finish this thing, I don’t have a choice.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, July 15, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 27
I really wanted to take a mental health day this week on the post but then I realized how ironic that would be seeing how this is blog is about mental health. The reasoning behind this desire was that I had a pretty crappy weekend last weekend (well if you call going to jail crappy, which I do). I can’t get into the details because the case is still pending and, you know what, that’s a lie. I just plain would rather not talk about it. However I can say with quite confidence that as bad as jail is, it’s got nothing on a psych ward.
That was actually the first words that came out of my mouth when I saw my parents once I was released last weekend (they’re real proud of me). I by no means want to downplay my experience locked up because it did suck something fierce but at least I knew what was going on. While in there I was still cognitive of what was going on around me, why I was in the place I was in, and knew eventually what would come of myself in there. When I’m in the wards, it’s anything but that.
Doing time on the wards for me is usually filled with my mind racing as fast as it can trying to keep up with my next thought. I’m lost within a world that I keep changing and altering in order to fulfill some reality I’ve created in my mind. I have no idea where I truly am or where I’ll end up. The wards are a giant puzzle in my head that the pieces keep changing shape and color whenever I look away, its mass confusion to the point of terrifying.
Eventually though I do settle down in the wards a little and the world does slowly come back to me. For the first few weeks I’m usually out of the hospital I imagine my mind works like everyone else’s usually does. Instead of jumping from one idea to the next I’m able to focus and concentrate. The clarity of the world comes into view for me and I spend hours doing nothing (and love every minute). I can recall my dad laughing when I told him I’d literally spend hours at Target or Kroger not needing anything but just shopping right after I left the wards just because I could without my mind pushing me elsewhere.
It’s difficult to probably relate for most because what I’m describing is more than likely a natural part of you non-crazies out there. You probably weren’t the kid who was always asked to speed read in school if the period was running down. Or constantly reminded to slow down whenever an oral (haha, oral) presentation was being given. I don’t exactly know why but whenever I did these things it was always a game to me; a challenge of myself to see how fast I could get my mind to go. Pushing my mind to its limits just to see if I could get there only to suddenly come to the realization that I was just deciding on what type of deli meat to get at Krogers (my mind can be a tricky bastard like that).
I must admit I do miss those few weeks after the psych ward from time to time now. This is especially true when things seem to be coming at me faster than I can keep up (like getting arrested). I liked spending hours in a grocery store thinking about nothing but what I might be hungry for later that day. Nowadays I seem too busy or in a hurry to even realize what’s going on right in front of me. I’m too infatuated with attempting to keep up with my speeding mind that I just can’t seem to slow down and enjoy the ride.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
That was actually the first words that came out of my mouth when I saw my parents once I was released last weekend (they’re real proud of me). I by no means want to downplay my experience locked up because it did suck something fierce but at least I knew what was going on. While in there I was still cognitive of what was going on around me, why I was in the place I was in, and knew eventually what would come of myself in there. When I’m in the wards, it’s anything but that.
Doing time on the wards for me is usually filled with my mind racing as fast as it can trying to keep up with my next thought. I’m lost within a world that I keep changing and altering in order to fulfill some reality I’ve created in my mind. I have no idea where I truly am or where I’ll end up. The wards are a giant puzzle in my head that the pieces keep changing shape and color whenever I look away, its mass confusion to the point of terrifying.
Eventually though I do settle down in the wards a little and the world does slowly come back to me. For the first few weeks I’m usually out of the hospital I imagine my mind works like everyone else’s usually does. Instead of jumping from one idea to the next I’m able to focus and concentrate. The clarity of the world comes into view for me and I spend hours doing nothing (and love every minute). I can recall my dad laughing when I told him I’d literally spend hours at Target or Kroger not needing anything but just shopping right after I left the wards just because I could without my mind pushing me elsewhere.
It’s difficult to probably relate for most because what I’m describing is more than likely a natural part of you non-crazies out there. You probably weren’t the kid who was always asked to speed read in school if the period was running down. Or constantly reminded to slow down whenever an oral (haha, oral) presentation was being given. I don’t exactly know why but whenever I did these things it was always a game to me; a challenge of myself to see how fast I could get my mind to go. Pushing my mind to its limits just to see if I could get there only to suddenly come to the realization that I was just deciding on what type of deli meat to get at Krogers (my mind can be a tricky bastard like that).
I must admit I do miss those few weeks after the psych ward from time to time now. This is especially true when things seem to be coming at me faster than I can keep up (like getting arrested). I liked spending hours in a grocery store thinking about nothing but what I might be hungry for later that day. Nowadays I seem too busy or in a hurry to even realize what’s going on right in front of me. I’m too infatuated with attempting to keep up with my speeding mind that I just can’t seem to slow down and enjoy the ride.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, July 8, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 26
.e4 (The Lost Posts) I
So I’ve decided this week to add a new feature to the blog that incorporates the past ideas I had but never wrote about. I’ve got post-it notes scattered about my desk with a few words scribbled on each of them about an idea I had to write about my BMD. I also will jot down (or type down I guess) some ideas in my phone if I’m out and about as well. So I was glancing through these notes the other day and the idea came to me that I should challenge myself (seeing how I dropped out of Grad school) in some way and try to write about these notes and try to recreate (the best I can) what the post would read like if I had written it when I had the idea (take into account that this is spanning from the past two years to present day; I can barely remember what I was thinking about yesterday).
So I’ve decided to randomly select a few lines from my notes on even more random weeks and try to write my posts with those few key concepts (that really aren’t that clear I must admit) for that week’s post. So without further ado I’ll introduce my readers to my key concepts for .e4 (The Lost Posts) I:
Make God laugh episode deuce & Digital arousal ;)
(Oh shit, this is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought, I hope it doesn’t suck guys, here we go…)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
December 28th, 2009
Snap, flick, snap-snap, click…it jumps from me to him, click…back to them…snap, twitch, blink-blink…
The game is racing through my head now as we sit waiting for our turn to see the shrinks. The waiting room in the hospital reeks like dank weed and everyone’s eyes are glossy, red, and squinted aside from my dad’s and the elderly couple in the corner. I know they’re watching us, they’re always watching me, the game never stops.
Blink, flash, it jumps around dancing about giving the world it’s very own game of hide-&-go-seek…
“Derek? Derek Thompson? The doctor will see you now.”
The trap has been set; the players are in play; a digital revolution of a coming age…
“Hi Derek, I’m Dr. Stevens and I’ve looked over your past history from your first manic episode and was wondering if you been having thoughts of divine intervention again?”
“Yes.”
“Anything in particular involving this?”
“That my game started the apocalypse and I killed everyone.”
“What game?”
“Well it was supposed to make God laugh through a digital arousal of confusion and deception, a sort of game of hide-&-go-seek through the online world for his pleasure. Somehow it went wrong though; I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just lost, looking for my way back.”
“Well we can help you find your way here.”
“Good, thank you.”
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
So I’ve decided this week to add a new feature to the blog that incorporates the past ideas I had but never wrote about. I’ve got post-it notes scattered about my desk with a few words scribbled on each of them about an idea I had to write about my BMD. I also will jot down (or type down I guess) some ideas in my phone if I’m out and about as well. So I was glancing through these notes the other day and the idea came to me that I should challenge myself (seeing how I dropped out of Grad school) in some way and try to write about these notes and try to recreate (the best I can) what the post would read like if I had written it when I had the idea (take into account that this is spanning from the past two years to present day; I can barely remember what I was thinking about yesterday).
So I’ve decided to randomly select a few lines from my notes on even more random weeks and try to write my posts with those few key concepts (that really aren’t that clear I must admit) for that week’s post. So without further ado I’ll introduce my readers to my key concepts for .e4 (The Lost Posts) I:
Make God laugh episode deuce & Digital arousal ;)
(Oh shit, this is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought, I hope it doesn’t suck guys, here we go…)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
December 28th, 2009
Snap, flick, snap-snap, click…it jumps from me to him, click…back to them…snap, twitch, blink-blink…
The game is racing through my head now as we sit waiting for our turn to see the shrinks. The waiting room in the hospital reeks like dank weed and everyone’s eyes are glossy, red, and squinted aside from my dad’s and the elderly couple in the corner. I know they’re watching us, they’re always watching me, the game never stops.
Blink, flash, it jumps around dancing about giving the world it’s very own game of hide-&-go-seek…
“Derek? Derek Thompson? The doctor will see you now.”
The trap has been set; the players are in play; a digital revolution of a coming age…
“Hi Derek, I’m Dr. Stevens and I’ve looked over your past history from your first manic episode and was wondering if you been having thoughts of divine intervention again?”
“Yes.”
“Anything in particular involving this?”
“That my game started the apocalypse and I killed everyone.”
“What game?”
“Well it was supposed to make God laugh through a digital arousal of confusion and deception, a sort of game of hide-&-go-seek through the online world for his pleasure. Somehow it went wrong though; I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just lost, looking for my way back.”
“Well we can help you find your way here.”
“Good, thank you.”
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, July 1, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 25
I spent the majority of my day yesterday experiencing my first funeral. My step grandmother passed away and my family spent the past couple days saying goodbye. My brothers and I were asked to be Pallbearers and I was honored to do so. A couple weeks after I returned from Chicago last year and was living with my parents my step grandmother had locked herself out and needed the spare set of keys at our house. I was home so I simply drove over to the other side of town and let her in. Even though I thought I did really nothing she couldn’t have been more thankful; she called me her guardian angel.
While these past few days have been my first experience with a funeral it was not my first experience with death. Nope, that unique pleasure I suppose goes to my first psych ward stay back in Denver at Porter Hospital. And while I may have been experiencing death for the first time, it was actually alive in front of me.
It was a couple days into my stay at the ward and I had finally caught up on my sleep and was back to normal sleeping patterns (well close to at least, still the first one up on the ward though everyday). As part of the rehabilitation program there the patients would break up into groups throughout the day. Each group had a different theme ranging from crafts, to healthcare, to emotions, to basic life functions. At the time I was a 26 year old kid who a mere few days prior was looking at bungalows on the beach in California, experiencing my soon to be new city and checking out Stanford’s campus, my mortality was the furthest thing from my mind.
“Next time I’ll do it right, I’ll finish it.”
These were the words from one of my fellow ward patients in our group when asked: “What’s one thing you would change if you had the opportunity.” This patient was brought to the ward that very day and she was still showing the bruises and mangled body of a failed attempt at suicide. She had given up, lost hope, relinquished her faith, and thrown herself in front of a train. I had never experienced death like this before in my life.
I struggled to understand what on Earth could persuade a person to willing throw themselves in front of a train to end it, and then regret that they failed in doing so afterwards. I can recall that I spent a lot of time trying to comprehend what I had seen that day. At that time suddenly my bungalow by the beach, my Ivy school aspirations, my new job and car seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things (“I’ve never seen an armored truck following a hearse”-Cox, J). My view of my world had changed forever.
Before I was released I was able to see a change in my fellow patient, especially when she was able to draw, you could see life glimmer just a bit back into her eyes. I’m not sure whatever happened to her and I hope she’s alright, because no one deserves that evil pain and suffering. But if she lost that fight I know one guardian angel up there that will lend a hand, because that’s what always seemed to make her happy.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
While these past few days have been my first experience with a funeral it was not my first experience with death. Nope, that unique pleasure I suppose goes to my first psych ward stay back in Denver at Porter Hospital. And while I may have been experiencing death for the first time, it was actually alive in front of me.
It was a couple days into my stay at the ward and I had finally caught up on my sleep and was back to normal sleeping patterns (well close to at least, still the first one up on the ward though everyday). As part of the rehabilitation program there the patients would break up into groups throughout the day. Each group had a different theme ranging from crafts, to healthcare, to emotions, to basic life functions. At the time I was a 26 year old kid who a mere few days prior was looking at bungalows on the beach in California, experiencing my soon to be new city and checking out Stanford’s campus, my mortality was the furthest thing from my mind.
“Next time I’ll do it right, I’ll finish it.”
These were the words from one of my fellow ward patients in our group when asked: “What’s one thing you would change if you had the opportunity.” This patient was brought to the ward that very day and she was still showing the bruises and mangled body of a failed attempt at suicide. She had given up, lost hope, relinquished her faith, and thrown herself in front of a train. I had never experienced death like this before in my life.
I struggled to understand what on Earth could persuade a person to willing throw themselves in front of a train to end it, and then regret that they failed in doing so afterwards. I can recall that I spent a lot of time trying to comprehend what I had seen that day. At that time suddenly my bungalow by the beach, my Ivy school aspirations, my new job and car seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things (“I’ve never seen an armored truck following a hearse”-Cox, J). My view of my world had changed forever.
Before I was released I was able to see a change in my fellow patient, especially when she was able to draw, you could see life glimmer just a bit back into her eyes. I’m not sure whatever happened to her and I hope she’s alright, because no one deserves that evil pain and suffering. But if she lost that fight I know one guardian angel up there that will lend a hand, because that’s what always seemed to make her happy.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, June 24, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 24
“JIM DAY IS A VIRGIN!”
If you’re ever enjoying a Reds pre or post-game on FOX Sports and hear a childish and immature fan yell those words over the broadcast you’ll know it’s me. I’m not sure exactly when I started heckling Jim Day but I do know it started sometime when I lived in The Nasty a couple years back. This heckling obsession of mine even followed me to Chicago where I actually got a responsive action from Jim at Wrigley (probably wasn’t expecting a Reds fan to heckle him in Wrigleyville though, yeah I’m stealthy like a ninja). I think I’ve always enjoyed just messing with people and that was reassured this past Father’s Day.
We were at my grandparents house this past Sunday looking through old family albums (I didn’t even recognize Stubby with two hands) and reminiscing about the good old days through storytelling. One of those stories G’pa was telling involved my first trip to Hawaii, my first flight alone, my first jet lag, the first time G’pa offered to piss on my foot (I stepped on a sea urchin and no he didn’t piss on me, that would have been worse than actually stepping on that venomous little devil) and the last time I ever used a payphone.
So prior to my trip to Hawaii I purchased some highly trendy thrift store tees (because I’m a follower and not a leader) and wore one the first day at the beach. One of our trip companions asked why I was wearing an “Apache” shirt as she was a teacher and interested in my second hand garment. Of course I can’t just say I grab it off the ½ price Tuesday rack at Goodwill so I go into detail about a senior high school English project I was working on (playing to her heart strings of course). That this project was some kind of genealogy project in class in which I discovered I was an eighth Apache (or some bullshit like that) so that’s why I got the shirt. G’pa said she was so impressed with my knowledge of our family as well as in how I much I showed pride in my heritage (got her).
The last time I used a payphone was actually also in Hawaii on this same trip and it was to call my girlfriend back on the mainland (how you like my Island lingo). This blonde haired and blued eyed Ram cheerleader (shocker I know, totally not my type) was asking me about my trip and how it was going. I couldn’t resist myself so I said the trip was fine and then told her that I was shocked because there was a bunch of Asians on the island and that they were all really tall. She was flabbergasted and couldn’t comprehend this fact, stating she always thought they were so short (maybe she was a little racist but hey, no body’s perfect). I said I did too but then I went on to explain to her that when you convert the metric system of meters and centimeters that the Asians use to the standard system of feet and inches we use in the States it actually makes them taller than us. I’m still unclear to this day if she knows now that I was totally full of shit back then or not (got her).
I think in a way this writing of mine is just another way of me messing with someone. Unfortunately it’s actually myself I’m messing with when you really boil it down and I’m not sure if this is going to work out for me or not. I mean I know that ever since I’ve started writing things may have not changed all that much with the BMD but I do seem to be handling this all a lot better though. Maybe messing with my BMD by writing these ridiculous stories every week makes me feel not so intimated by it. Like messing with it makes me feel like I’m leveling the playing field a little or something (but on the other hand this all could backfire pretty bad because I’ve always heard you can’t bullshit a bullshitter).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
If you’re ever enjoying a Reds pre or post-game on FOX Sports and hear a childish and immature fan yell those words over the broadcast you’ll know it’s me. I’m not sure exactly when I started heckling Jim Day but I do know it started sometime when I lived in The Nasty a couple years back. This heckling obsession of mine even followed me to Chicago where I actually got a responsive action from Jim at Wrigley (probably wasn’t expecting a Reds fan to heckle him in Wrigleyville though, yeah I’m stealthy like a ninja). I think I’ve always enjoyed just messing with people and that was reassured this past Father’s Day.
We were at my grandparents house this past Sunday looking through old family albums (I didn’t even recognize Stubby with two hands) and reminiscing about the good old days through storytelling. One of those stories G’pa was telling involved my first trip to Hawaii, my first flight alone, my first jet lag, the first time G’pa offered to piss on my foot (I stepped on a sea urchin and no he didn’t piss on me, that would have been worse than actually stepping on that venomous little devil) and the last time I ever used a payphone.
So prior to my trip to Hawaii I purchased some highly trendy thrift store tees (because I’m a follower and not a leader) and wore one the first day at the beach. One of our trip companions asked why I was wearing an “Apache” shirt as she was a teacher and interested in my second hand garment. Of course I can’t just say I grab it off the ½ price Tuesday rack at Goodwill so I go into detail about a senior high school English project I was working on (playing to her heart strings of course). That this project was some kind of genealogy project in class in which I discovered I was an eighth Apache (or some bullshit like that) so that’s why I got the shirt. G’pa said she was so impressed with my knowledge of our family as well as in how I much I showed pride in my heritage (got her).
The last time I used a payphone was actually also in Hawaii on this same trip and it was to call my girlfriend back on the mainland (how you like my Island lingo). This blonde haired and blued eyed Ram cheerleader (shocker I know, totally not my type) was asking me about my trip and how it was going. I couldn’t resist myself so I said the trip was fine and then told her that I was shocked because there was a bunch of Asians on the island and that they were all really tall. She was flabbergasted and couldn’t comprehend this fact, stating she always thought they were so short (maybe she was a little racist but hey, no body’s perfect). I said I did too but then I went on to explain to her that when you convert the metric system of meters and centimeters that the Asians use to the standard system of feet and inches we use in the States it actually makes them taller than us. I’m still unclear to this day if she knows now that I was totally full of shit back then or not (got her).
I think in a way this writing of mine is just another way of me messing with someone. Unfortunately it’s actually myself I’m messing with when you really boil it down and I’m not sure if this is going to work out for me or not. I mean I know that ever since I’ve started writing things may have not changed all that much with the BMD but I do seem to be handling this all a lot better though. Maybe messing with my BMD by writing these ridiculous stories every week makes me feel not so intimated by it. Like messing with it makes me feel like I’m leveling the playing field a little or something (but on the other hand this all could backfire pretty bad because I’ve always heard you can’t bullshit a bullshitter).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, June 17, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 23
As much as I have complained about my redshirt kindergarten year in the past there were some benefits to the situation. Say for instance I was able to drive to high school my freshman year (still didn’t help with the ladies though), I was able to buy my brother dip in high school (just doing my big brother duties), I could buy alcohol my sophomore year at Witt (did kind of help with the ladies) and most importantly I was able to buy porn legally my entire senior year in high school (hello Lion’s Den).
The beauty of this is that my Junior and Senior years in high school I worked at the Outlet Malls right beside the Lion’s Den. I worked with a couple friends from South Chuck and the Lion’s Den was right on our way home from work (how convenient). We stopped in every few weeks (or maybe more) to see if there was anything new that caught our eyes or anything we had to have that was recently put on clearance (although in hindsight buying anything on clearance in a porn shop probably isn’t the best idea). During these frequent stops I at times would cross my fingers on the way in in hope that I might see someone in the Den that I knew didn’t want to see me in there at the same time as them.
I thought it would be great to walk in and catch a glimpse of the right winged ultra conservative religious extremist teacher checking out the wall of dildos to the back right corner (yeah I know where they’re at). I always hoped it would be a teacher of mine that I could blackmail to turn say that B suddenly into an A (thanks foot fetish, that teach is a real freak for toes). Unfortunately that never happened but I did encounter some interesting peeps with my semi-frequent (ok just frequent) trips to the Den.
Social interaction in the Den at times could be a little tricky because the majority of people shopping in there would act like no one could see them. They seemed to behave like they were ashamed that they were in a porn shop looking at TNA or something. I never really understood this, I mean we’re all sick perverts in here so lighten up and just be you. I’m not sure why these people were so backwards, I mean we’re in a porn shop; it’s supposed to be a happy and fun place where you can go to simply be yourself with no fear of judgment.
I have always tried to take that mentality of “simply being myself” when it came to dealing with this BMD of mine. I have been under the same impression since my first doctor’s appointment post psych ward in Denver and that is that this is a part of me. That it is not going anywhere and it is something I’ll be living with for the rest of my life. With this being said I just approached it as open and straightforward as I could. I knew I could never hide it or run from it because it’s just too huge to do so. It plays too significant of a role in my life to try and act like it doesn’t exist. The only way I know how to handle all of this is to be me and not be ashamed of whom I am (porn pervert or whatever). Some people maybe aren’t comfortable with who they really are. Others may care too much about what their peers may think about them to be themselves. I’m not sure of the reasons for everyone else but I do know why I live my life the way I live it; and that’s because this way is just the way I like to fight.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
The beauty of this is that my Junior and Senior years in high school I worked at the Outlet Malls right beside the Lion’s Den. I worked with a couple friends from South Chuck and the Lion’s Den was right on our way home from work (how convenient). We stopped in every few weeks (or maybe more) to see if there was anything new that caught our eyes or anything we had to have that was recently put on clearance (although in hindsight buying anything on clearance in a porn shop probably isn’t the best idea). During these frequent stops I at times would cross my fingers on the way in in hope that I might see someone in the Den that I knew didn’t want to see me in there at the same time as them.
I thought it would be great to walk in and catch a glimpse of the right winged ultra conservative religious extremist teacher checking out the wall of dildos to the back right corner (yeah I know where they’re at). I always hoped it would be a teacher of mine that I could blackmail to turn say that B suddenly into an A (thanks foot fetish, that teach is a real freak for toes). Unfortunately that never happened but I did encounter some interesting peeps with my semi-frequent (ok just frequent) trips to the Den.
Social interaction in the Den at times could be a little tricky because the majority of people shopping in there would act like no one could see them. They seemed to behave like they were ashamed that they were in a porn shop looking at TNA or something. I never really understood this, I mean we’re all sick perverts in here so lighten up and just be you. I’m not sure why these people were so backwards, I mean we’re in a porn shop; it’s supposed to be a happy and fun place where you can go to simply be yourself with no fear of judgment.
I have always tried to take that mentality of “simply being myself” when it came to dealing with this BMD of mine. I have been under the same impression since my first doctor’s appointment post psych ward in Denver and that is that this is a part of me. That it is not going anywhere and it is something I’ll be living with for the rest of my life. With this being said I just approached it as open and straightforward as I could. I knew I could never hide it or run from it because it’s just too huge to do so. It plays too significant of a role in my life to try and act like it doesn’t exist. The only way I know how to handle all of this is to be me and not be ashamed of whom I am (porn pervert or whatever). Some people maybe aren’t comfortable with who they really are. Others may care too much about what their peers may think about them to be themselves. I’m not sure of the reasons for everyone else but I do know why I live my life the way I live it; and that’s because this way is just the way I like to fight.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
