Never took the time to appreciate my surroundings. Never really put much thought in what it took to get to this place. Six years ago, I couldn’t even fathom getting to this place. It’s not always simple; there are days when it feels like giving up is just easier. These days, though, that’s not even …

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Not a believer of luck, good or bad. Not the superstitious type. Sure, I might joke about the terrible things that happen on Friday the 13th, but I don’t actually think the date is the reason behind them. Bad things happen no matter the day. Apparently, we just focus on the bad things when the …

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These are not resolutions

December 25, 2016


The dry spell isn’t over. 2016 brought so much and gave so little away, creative wise. And it’s difficult to remain optimistic about the dawning new year. So many poor decisions were made this year. It started with the decision to only read books of a certain genre. It quickly derailed. Much worse than the year before. 2017 will be a low number goal for books, but do I promise to budget my time between TV, books, and, most importantly, being a father.

And exercise—shit! I forgot about exercise! Earlier this year, it was the first to go when things began to look bleak. Just cast aside after months of fighting with the Zombies, Run! app and my phone’s weak signal (just Sprint’s way to remind me it’s time to upgrade!). And with exercise, comes better eating. Having to watch your sodium and sugar intake isn’t fun at 33. Most things dietary aren’t fun at 33. Things aren’t fun at 33. And it’s necessary to stop expecting instant results. More so, it’s important to know that it’s not something a person can jump into headstrong. One needs to ease into it, otherwise, you’re bound to lose hope and enthusiasm. No diet books. No starving myself. Just better, healthier choices.

And spending time with friends. It’s beneficial to make time for yourself to spend with friends. No matter the activity. After binge watching The Big Bang Theory (don’t you dare judge me! We all have our vices), I brought up the idea of incorporating Dungeons & Dragons into our game night. We’re all nerds, after all. Why not take it to the next step? From the starter kit, purchased for $20 at Barnes and Noble, to purchasing the three main guides from Amazon (thank you Humana Vitality!), Duckie and I have been pouring over everything in order to make decent characters and stories. Of course, Cards Against Humanity, Exploding Kittens, and Betrayal at House on the Hill are also included in our reindeer games—plus whatever board and card games purchased in the new year. But the activity doesn’t matter in the end. Games or movie marathons or a TV show binge. The effort needs to be made at least once a month (twice, if you’re feeling randy).

And writing. After swearing that 2016 was the year that my creative process would resurrect itself, nothing came to fruition. A few jotted notes in my “bible” dealing with story ideas, quotes from stories and books read or skimmed through, snippets of science and astronomy and mythos lore—nothing that amounted to anything. I won’t say 2017 will be my year. But damn, I’ll need to put more effort into my craft. And not just my random thoughts in a journal or on this blog. But serious, hardcore writing.

And returning to the garden. I started a small garden for Shaun this year, but after the summer incident I lost enthusiasm. I always meant to spread the garden until it encompassed a large chunk of the backyard. And after watching Fuller House, I have an idea how to go about it. But it’ll cost money.

And finally, adulting. I haven’t figured out how to do this just yet. But I will.

The End of Phase 2 Pt. 4: Friends, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Human Race (sort of).

May 1, 2015

Last November—during my annual Brovember movie month—I watched 21 Jump Street. I caught the movie in the past on FX, always allotted for time and always censored. I don’t remember much from the movie. It’s not that memorable. Although, it did raise a question I had never thought to ask before: How do adults become friends?

When I met my long-time friend, Meester Binx (obviously not his real name), it was on the playground during our years at Sam Houston. Now Binx will argue with me until he’s blue in the face about that we met in first grade. I know that we met in kindergarten. We were walking in opposing directions and crossed paths. I hopped to my right and he hopped to his left. I moved to my left and he moved to his right. “Cut it out,” one of us said. “Cut what out,” responded the other in classic Dave Coulier fashion. And of course the squeaky, broken voice of typical childhood bashfulness broke the routine we found ourselves in. “Do you wanna be my friend?” This is another thing Binx will argue. In his version of the story, I asked it. In the true version of the story, we both asked it because we were obviously destined to be hetero life mates a la Jay and Silent Bob.

In Junior High (now referred to as Middle School), things changed a bit. The dynamics were the same. Chance introductions led to brief or lifelong camaraderie. And high school dragged those Junior High friends through the mud and I met their girlfriends and reunited with old elementary chums. In summation, I have never been without friends.

Post high school/college, most of my acquaintances were made because of the dire need of having classroom friends in case I missed a day. Those are the ones who “throw away” after the semester is over. If you so happened to share another course together, well, it saved you the trouble of having to make another friend. The friends that I made in college—the real ones—came from being a part of Sigma Tau Delta. And even those are just people have become just faces on social network.

The digital age has altered the term friend viciously. I catch myself several times during conversations. My Internet friend. A friend from Tumblr. This Facebook friend. The word follows or is followed by an adjective, the name of a website where we commune. Some of these people I can say I love. I love Samantha. I love Ashton. I love Jason and all his bearded glory. I love Jenn. I love that bastard Eddie. These are people who I could talk to. Who I’d go out and grab a drink with if I drank. I don’t drink. Don’t invite me out drinking. I’ll only ruin your night. And I’ll probably steal your keys. And your cell phone. Because I love you and I want you safe.

My adult friends are comprised by friends I’ve known all my life. There’s Binx, of course. There’s Monica, and there’s Miranda. There’s Jeanna. There’s Esmer and Jerry, who I met because of Jeanna. Monica and Joe go way back to kindergarten where Miranda came about in high school.

Then there are the work friends. These are the weasels who snaked into my life while I wasn’t watching. I go into every job saying that I won’t make friends. Before I know it, there are new people in my life that I actually enjoy talking to. That I enjoy hanging out with. That I can be a complete idiot around. Who’ll laugh when I need them to laugh at me. Who’ll make a joke to cheer me up. Who’ll invite me to places or force me to attend parties against my will. These are the people I don’t mind talking to, confessing to, confiding in. These are people I’d go out and have a drink with if I drank. I don’t drink. Don’t invite me to go out drinking with you. I’ll only snap embarrassing pictures of you and broadcast them on Tumblr and Instagram and Facebook and my blog (which you’re reading).

Somewhere we stop asking the question. Maybe it’s understood. We don’t need to mimic Channing Tatum in 21 Jump Street and sheepishly ask the guy we bullied in high school if he wants to be our friend. We just know. And I love that.