Thursday, March 31, 2005

Mercy, Mercy Me, Shut the fuck up FB.

I placed a very large order at Amazon and yesterday I received the second shipment. I am still waiting on the first (don't get me started on the Army's mail system). I was still pretty excited about receiving this shipment, though. This is what came in this shipment:

Funkadelic: One Nation Under a Groove
Marvin Gaye: Every Great Motown Hit
Barry White: The Ultimate Collection
Led Zeppelin box set.

What I have learned from this is that I shouldn't order anything else because no matter how much I like the music, I WON'T GET THROUGH ONE GODDAMNED SONG WITHOUT FB OR TG TRYING TO TALK TO ME. No shit, I haven't gotten through a single song since I got this order yesterday. Not one song. Not one. It's making me want to be violent. The whole point of the music is that it relaxes me. If anyone out there is looking for a job, I will pay you to beat the shit out of either one of them when they try to say something that isn't work-related and applicable to me for the next two months.

See, I know it's hard to believe when I say that I'm not a violent person, but these are not my children interrupting me, these are full grown adults that should understand that when I put my headphones back on, not to try to strike up conversation. Since this post is almost entirely me venting, I am going to blow a gasket:


Ok, I feel better now. Before you leave thinking that I'm nuts, buy your spouse a cd player and a cd he/she really wants, invite a stranger over to your house, instruct the stranger to interrupt your spouse every 3 minutes, and then watch your spouse explode. It's like that except that I can't explode.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

I want to play that funky music riiight.

I need to learn to play an instrument, and not just the bagpipes. I want to join a band that plays disco/funk. I've always been a HUGE fan of both, but lately my enjoyment of them is reaching a feverish pitch. My experience with musical instruments is rather limited. I played the coronet for a short time in the 5th grade before I realized that it sucked. I want to play bass and maybe trumpet or trombone. Although the trumpet is similar to the coronet, it's bigger and missing the suckage. It's like the difference between Louis Armstrong and Kenny G.

If you like Kenny G, congratulations! You just made my "Not allowed to breed" list. The same goes for Celine Dion, Michael Bolton, Barry Manilow and Wayne Newton. If you like Tom Jones, however, congratulations! You just made my "Exclusive rights to own a harem (or the male equivalent for the ladies out there)" list. If you don't understand why Tom Jones is acceptable, that's alright. That's why I'm management. Now don't breed.

And now, Tony Danza!

Click on the picture to visit SJ's blog. She's my Blog Muse and my new favorite blogger. Note: I do not endorse Tony Danza in any form or fashion. I don't know if SJ does or not.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

I'm not upset at all.

So now you know a little bit about my childhood. Despite all this, I am relatively happy where I am in life. I mean, I'm not happy with the fact that I am in Iraq, but really that's all I have to complain about. I am getting divorced from my wife in November which is a GOOD thing. That makes me happy. I have the best sister in the world who just happens to be the only Lubba in existence. I am healthy. I am making huge amounts of money, but I'm even planning on giving that up to be with the love of my life. I really don't have a lot to complain about at all. Most of the time I am a laid back, easy going guy. I'm just passionate about a lot of things like not shopping at Wal-Mart, civil rights for the gay community in the US and most of all, religious tolerance (meaning the tolerance of religions besides Christianity by the government and the community at large).

I am a liberal. This does not mean come to my blog and act like a conservative ass, mind you, because you will just have your comments removed and send me into a berserker rage in which I will attempt to bludgeon your framed picture of Ronald Reagan to death with a whiffle bat. Just try me. Oh and I will publicly ridicule you also.

Today I AM tired though. Sleep deprivation seems to be a common theme for me here, thanks to Funk Beast. I would like to make two comments about this link. Firstly, in NO way should anyone infer that SJ stinks or farts a lot, nor was I at the time of that posting. I have no knowledge of her personal hygiene, but I am willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Secondly, MPH never delivered his promise of a sundae, and so I am holding out on "amping up" the links to his blog. Don't go visit it. Visit Pops' blog instead.

Monday, March 21, 2005

The Maw of the Beast

Ok I've realized that I'm not mad enough to do this blog the way it was originally intended, but since I've started the story, I'll finish it. Feel free to ask questions; this is going to be a cursory telling of the story. It won't even scratch the surface of the madness that we endured.

When I was 8, my father started dating a total bitch. She seemed ok to me at the time, though Later that year they got married. Then they convinced my mother to let them take us for the summer. Then they fought for custody. My mother didn't have the resources to fight back, and they encouraged us to tell lies (and believed them) about her that would cause her to lose custody.

The bitch's name is Sandy. Sandy wasn't your ordinary woman. She was a brute. She had manly arms that are equally hairy. She was the type of woman that you want on your side in a bar fight. I am convinced that she had some sort of chemical imbalance, or she was just literally insane. She lied to our father about us. She was also incredibly lazy. Her mother was incredibly rich.

I realized that she was my enemy the day she first made me wear duct tape over my mouth. According to her it was because I was a little rat. My step-brother, her son, was 16 at the time. I had told on him. I was still 8 years old. She made it quite clear that day that she hated us. She told my father that I had cussed her out. She would continue to use this as a method of punishment, even when we had company. Oddly, no one ever said anything about it. I am sure she made up some handy excuse about sparing the rod or some such.

I don't remember when the beatings started. I just remember that we got beaten for not doing things that she never told us to do. We got beaten for doing things the way that she wanted us to do them. We got beaten for talking back if we asked questions in an attempt to clarify. We got beaten for playing with each other. We got beaten for playing with the pets. We got beaten for everything and we got beaten for nothing. She was good about it though. She never left a mark on us where it could be seen. Of course, our behavior changed. We went from normal (ok nothing about us is normal, but you know what I mean), happy kids, to automatons. Teachers knew what was going on. My grandparents knew what was going on. My father knew what was going on. No one even raised a finger to help us. I still don't know why. My father didn't help us because he wanted the inheritance. One time Dusti called a child abuse hotline. Some guy came out and did a cursory inspection of the house, but we suspect that was an act to "prove" that she was wrong. Eventually Dusti made it out and moved in with my mother. She still feels guilty about "leaving us," as she puts it, but I am glad she didn't have to endure any more.

At one point, my little sister developed an eating disorder. She was bulemic. Sandy blamed it on Dusti, but we all knew it was Sandy that caused it. Sandy and my father refused to take her to the hospital. Instead they started mass-feeding her, trying to fatten her up. She would just vomit it back up. Then Sandy would beat her for it. One day she was eating ice cream and she threw up in the bowl. She was so scared that she just mixed it up and ate it. I hated watching that. I couldn't do anything about it. Eventually she recovered on her own.
When I was 10 years old, they convinced us to tell our mother that we never wanted to see her again. This was during the second custody fight. It was the last time I'd speak to my mother for 10 long years. I have always loved my mom.

When I was in the 6th grade I skipped 15 days of school. I would stay home all day and enjoy the peace and quiet. The school would call home, but since I was there, I could erase the messages. I got busted when my father saw my absences on my report card. I was grounded for the following summer, and of course, I got beaten. When asked why I skipped school, I tried to deny it at first, but when I saw he wasn't buying it, I concocted a story about this kid that was bigger than me wanting to beat me up. My father decided that it was time for me to learn to defend myself. He started teaching me how to fight and additionally he enrolled me into Tae Kwon Do classes. By the time I was 14, he refused to spar with me anymore because inevitably I'd beat his ass. He was much stronger than me, but I was far faster.

One day when I was 16, I got up from the table without permission. Up until this point, there was no rule in which we had to ask to be excused. Apparently that rule had gone into effect without me knowing about it. Sandy got up and came at me without a word of warning. She went to slap me across the face and instinctively I blocked it. This pissed her off. She tried to slap me again, harder. I blocked it again. Then she started trying to punch me. I deflected everything she threw at me. Throughout it all I was backing up. My back hit the wall. She was doing everything she could to hit me and I was doing everything I could to prevent that from happening. She got lucky and grazed my head with her fist. I stopped defending myself and attacked her. I picked her up and threw her across the room into the computer table. She never fucked with me again after that, and I knew she was scared of me. For the first few weeks after that when she'd get mad and start to come at me, I'd throw my hands up into a defensive position. She'd stop and tell me to put my hands down. I knew better than to attack her, but there was nothing that would stop me from defending myself. I'd tell her no. Then she'd scream at me for what seemed like an eternity, but as long as I kept my hands up she was afraid of me. Eventually she'd give up. After a while she quit trying to attack me. The mind games never stopped though, and there was nothing I could do for my sister that wouldn't have landed me in jail.

For eight years we dealt with the beatings, the mind games and worst of all, the fear. We lived in fear of this woman. No one should ever experience anything like that. Especially not children. We're all fucked up from it. Still. I tossed her into the computer table 12 years ago. The abuse started 20 years ago. I will never forgive my father for selling us out. I will never forgive the St. Charles Parish Police Department for not taking care of it when Dusti called. I will never forgive the faculties at the St. Charles Parish Public Schools that we attended. We were children.

The title of this post refers to my father, primarily. Ten points to whomever guesses the reference.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Everyone is dysfunctional.

I've heard it said that everyone has a dysfunctional family. I don't believe that. I'm sorry, but there is no way that everyone has a dysfunctional family. Every family has it's share of problems, but that does NOT make it dysfunctional. My girlfriend, for instance, has an incredible family.

What makes a family dysfunctional is when a member or members of the family attempt to do things that harm the family. The fact that two of your brothers and your sister died and everyone is still in mourning eight years later doesn't make it dysfunctional unless a family member murdered them. It might be abnormal, but not dysfunctional. Normal has no meaning anymore, anyway.

When I was four years old, my parents got divorced. I didn't understand, I was only four, but I didn't like it. If you think that kids are resilient and that they'll bounce back from this, you're wrong. I don't blame my mom for leaving my father, but I wish she hadn't. Not because I have any particular affection for my father, but because we weren't dysfunctional.

I have two sisters, Dusti (the Lubba), my older sister, and a little sister.

My father and I have the same birthday. He is 23 years, 23 hours, and 45 minutes older than me, if I am not mistaken. For four years, from the time I was four until I was eight years old, he was my best friend.

My mother remarried, but none of us liked our new stepfather, Russ. I was too young to know, but my older sister, Dusti, tells me that he was an alcoholic. When I was four or five years old, he got it into his head that he was going to beat me. And he did. He wielded a belt like a flail and beat me with the buckle. My entire thigh was bruised. It looked like he busted every blood vessel I had in my thigh. When my mother found out, she left him immediately. My father found out first, though. He was enraged. He took me to the police department and filled out a report. They took pictures. I guess there was no proof that Russ did it or something because he never got in trouble. I hope for both of our sakes that I never meet him again. I'm not a little boy anymore.

The Quintessential Asshole

I may get fired soon. Today, for the third time, I went off on my boss, only this time it was work related. I told him, "Just sit there and shut up because you don't fucking know." It was more like I yelled that at him. In front of the customer. The only thing that MIGHT save my job is that he doesn't have any authority to get rid of me. The project manager would have to do that. It wouldn't bother me emotionally to get out of here, but financially it's not viable for me to leave until at least the end of May. The funny thing is that I am still pissed off at him. I am going to make a list of what it is I hate about him:

He is a racist.
He is misogynistic.
He is homophobic.
He is egotistical.
He is condescending.
He is uneducated.
He is socially inept.
He is discourteous.
He is mentally weak.
He is emotionally weak.
He is physically strong and thinks that he intimidates me.
He tries to talk to me when I'm communicating with my girlfriend, watching a movie, or sleeping, even when he knows I'm doing these things.
He isn't interested in anything that anyone else has to say.
He cheats on his wife.

Looking at the list I've realized that there is no way that you can really understand how shitty of a person he is without being around him all the time. There's also no way to completely compile the list. Suffice to say that I hate everything about this guy. I want to bash his fucking head in with something that's not too heavy so that it takes multiple blows to finish the job. I'd never do that of course, but only because I don't want to face the charges if I did. He is the quintessential asshole.

I'm not a virgin.

This is not the first blog I've created. Pops suggested that I have Asperger's Syndrome. I don't know if that is true or not, but since he has said that, I have noticed that I am an angrier person than I previously thought. This is where I am going to post all the dark thoughts that occur to me. I need an objective outlook on what's going on in my head and I don't trust any of you. So instead, I'm just going to post this as it comes to me when I need to vent or get upset or whatever. Later, I'll read this when I'm not angry or upset or feeling however I do when I post. From there I'm going to adjust myself. I don't want to be an angry person but GODDAMN some of you people out there excel at pissing me off. I am going to leave this open for comment, but only in the interest of my own entertainment. If it entertains you also, great, but know that this is my form of "cutting" as MPH puts it, and I don't really care to hear how much you disagree. I don't really give a fuck, honestly.

The links on the right are some links that I read when I want to smile. These are good people and you should read their blogs. I know that some of you will come when you see hits on your blogs from this site, so the above "I don't give a fuck" comments don't apply to you. You're more than welcome to tell me whatever you think. Everyone else can bite me.

Today I'm pissed.
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.