Like Jesus Wore It

As I was scrubbing my shower this morning, this blog idea presented itself to me. I was scrubbing the shower because it did not drain yesterday. I was wrapping up my daily shower, having cleaned myself thoroughly. Some bits, more thoroughly than others (hey... hygiene can be fun!). I opened my eyes and noticed a bit more standing water than there should be.

I happened to have a plunger handy, so... insert your own plunging sound effects... My efforts were not in vain. Clumps of hair, mine. I have been growing out the follicles out for a spell.

Hair and an accumulation of purple lint. I have some stellar purple bath sheets. For the record - fuck towels. Bath sheets are the bee's knees. They are great, but 4 years later, they still pollinate the area with lint.

So, having finished showering, and extracted a not so tiny clump of hair, I got out. It eventually drained, but left a nice film of "eww". So, I found myself on my knees asked myself, "Self, why the long hair?"

GOOD QUESTION, SELF!

I think the biggest section of that pie chart is "It Pisses Off the Rednecks I Work With". Last week, the gentleman whom I will NEVER get a Xmas card from, remarked, "Hey Doug, I think your barber missed a spot."

"Really, where? My ssssstylissssst usually is spot on!" (It's the lisp that REALLY makes 'em cringe. That cringe makes my soul smile.)

As of now, I essentially have my head shaved all the way around and the top is long. There is literally the long and the short of it. It is either long, or really, reeeeally short. Zero on the sides short.

Another reason is for the ren faire. It just seems a little more... I dunno... ren fairey. I might get a nice viking braid one weekend.

I had long hair in high school. After high school. Little bit during the military.

*Funny Story Time*

In the military, I had essentially the same hair I do now, but I was much cuter then. This was TWO DECADES ago - almost exactly TWO DECADES ago. We were not allowed this sort of length, so every morning, I would gel it back and hairspray it.

Shit was bulletproof. I remember a fly got caught on it once.

One day, it was warm, and we were busting ass on the flight line. We stopped by the smoke pit for a cig. An errant strand had come loose. The end of it was touching my upper lip.

Master Sergeant Dooley was coming out to get a butt of his own.

"Hey, d... Hair's getting a little long."

"Yes, Sergeant", and we hopped back in the tug and amscrayed.

A couple of days go by. Again, we were busy on the flight line. Like clockwork, we were met by Sarge at the smoke pit. Again, one lone strand of hair had broke free from the product prison I had constructed.

"Hey, d... I thought I told you to get a haircut."

"No, Sergeant. You mention that my hair was getting a little long, and I agreed." and before he could retort, a call came in on our truck's radio. So off we zoomed... at 15 mph.

I think it was a week later, he comes up to the smoke pit, where I spent a decent amount of time.

"Afternoon, Sergeant."

"Hey, d?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Get a fucking haircut."

"Roger that, Sergeant."

*Thus Endeth the Story*

Point being, I have always been a fan of bucking authority and not being in the "norm".

I guess the last reason I am growing out my hair is because I just don't know how many more opportunities I will be presented with to do so. This may be the last hurrah, if you will.

Not to sound braggadocios... but it is really soft and angel like... So... Got that going for me...

While I am all about the keeping my doo on point, I am nowhere near what I have seen women go through to maintain their manes. It is insane! Once I have finished with the shampoo and conditioner, I use a comb. End of list.

Women have a metric fuck tonne of products they use in order to JUST keep the hair healthy. I mean, Gawd forbid that they are actually going OUT. Then they break out an arsenal of products, and tools - just to look good for their significant other.

So, Dudes, when you go out and do NOT notice their hair or makeup, THAT is why it is a big deal. How's about a little something... ya know... for the effort.

Some women, and I am speaking from what I can figure (Ladies, if I am wrong, please address all hate mail to "Not me, Corner of Nowhere and Just Saying Avenue"), feel a not so small percentage of their appearance rides on their hair. Some, of course, could give a shit. I also am willing to bet that the majority of the judgment felt, is perceived as coming from other females. Men are kind of oblivious when a picometer of hair has been trimmed from your bangs.

I have never seen a bond so tightly formed than between when a female goes to a stylist and the stylists gets what the female is trying to convey, and then PULLS IT OFF! It is a total "ride or die" situation after that bit o' magic transpires.

Last point... Hair is BIG business! Shampoo, conditioner, oil treatments, relaxer, anti-fizz, gel, hair spray, mousse, coloring, dryers, irons, curlers.... Hair care has it's own AISLE in the damn supermarket and is 25% of a CVS, Walgreen's or Rite Aid.

When it comes to ethnic hair? HALF A TRILLION DOLLAR INDUSTRY! Scope "Good Hair" by Chris Rock.

Then moving on to barbers, stylists, colorists, extension-ists (sp?) - Crazy money. They have their own schools! When an occupation has it's own school, you know that shit is legit! There are quite a few hair stylist competitions - with cash prizes and bragging rights... Queue the insanity.

"Those silly females! Spending all that money on hair!" say silly males... Not so fast, Pum'kin.

Rogaine? Propecia? Before limp dick pills came along, I remember seeing a lot of commercials for that stuff.

Lest we forget... Hair Club for Who??? Hair transplants? hair plugs? Whatever the current president has on his EMPTY FUCKING HEAD (Apologies - I tried... I did... I tried, dammit! Curious that I proofread this and I didn't delete it... I AM NOT SORRY! I'M GLAD I DID IT!!!!)

Joe Buck, sports announcer, almost DIED from getting hair plugs. Well, complications from hair plug surgery. Homeboy was willing to die vs. go bald...

So, let's not cast dispersion on the greater sex for spending a chunk of change to look and feel better about themselves. There was no anesthesia involved.

_____________________________

In the end, the shower is clean. Mad respect to Brillo steel wool pads. Big props to Draino for helping with the clog.

I am not going to keep the hair long forever. I whimper when I have plucked one or seven long ass, gray ones. Mom thinks I look good in a crew cut. I think she is losing her sight or getting senile (KIDDING MOM!). 

I am not against having the short hair. In the summer of 2011, Dallas had seventy days over 100 degrees. To hell with that noise. My dome was shaved. It also allowed me an extra ten minutes of snooze in the mornings. There was no shampooing or conditioning... There was no combing... Hmmm....

Hey, Self... What was that question again? "Why the long hair?"

Oh, yeah, I remember now, "Some ladies like it."

Meu dedo enterrado, no meu nariz,

d

This blog brought to you by a 70's musical, System Of A Down, Billy Idol, Faith No More*, Iron Maiden, The Dust Brothers, Heart, Neil Fucking Diamond, Pantera, Led Zeppelin, Paul Westerberg, Shooting Guns, Modern English, Eminem, Korn, Metallica, Aretha Franklin, and Train.

Why Both Boobs?

The names of parties have been changed to protect the innocent... and the guilty... Also, I can't remember the actual names of everyone. Please join me on a trip down memory lane.

It was warm in Tacoma the summer of 1995. It was hitting upper eighties on the thermometer. In a town where there was no air conditioning, those kinds of temps make people's fuses real, real short.

I was on McChord Air Force Base... Which doesn't really exist anymore... It was a Friday, and we had cleaned the shop up in preparation of getting the hell out of dodge for the weekend.

There was a new guy in the shop, and his name was... ... Let's go with... Allen. Airman Allen... Yeah... That'll work. He seemed a decent enough guy, HOWEVER, comma, he was competing for attention and inclusion in a group of eight guys who had traveled together from tech school, and a couple of those guys knew each other from basic training.

Tech school for our field was four months long. Add another two months for basic. Add the fourteen months we all had been stationed on base together... We were a tight knit group. We knew each other lives. We knew each other's wives. We had ate, drank, slept, wept, bled, and drank together. Yes... fully aware that "drank" was listed twice. On purpose.

Cliques in the military were formed chronologically. There were those five guys got there a year before our group. There was a new batch of Airmen who came in a year after. Each clique had some overlap, but the lines were pretty established.

Allen was a transfer. He came from another base. That was a red flag. Usually, low level grunts like that do not get transferred. The main reasons for something like that were a "hardship" transfer. I had a good friend who was from the Tacoma area and his father was dying, so... "Hardship" transfer from some other base.

The other reason would be disciplinary... "No one on this base likes this douche, so, before he gets his ass kicked..."

As we waited to be released, Allen sauntered up and asks, "Hey, what's going on this weekend?"

"I dunno... I fucking live off base and gonna fucking try and have naked weekend with the Mrs.", was my sincere and honest reply. Look, I was 22, cursed a whole lot more, and me and X1 (first ex wife) REALLY enjoyed some naked weekends. She worked two jobs and we rarely had a full weekend to ourselves. That trend would continue.

"That's cool. I am married too. I also have a 8 month old."

"Fuckin' sweet. Have a good fucking weekend." (Cursed a LOT more.)

We were dismissed... Cue the Benny Hill's "Yakety Sax" as we dashed out.

That Saturday was a beautiful morning... Crisp... but not cold... Out on the balcony of our third story apartment, X1 and I sharing a post coital cigarette... Our third of that variety of the day. I do miss being young. We put on some clothes to do some laundry in the complex's laundry center... Was about 11:00 in the morning.

I heard some clomps coming up stairs. I gave it no mind, figuring the neighbors were just getting in. Then... it happened.

A knock on the door.

X1 gave me the "Who the fuck is that?" look.

I looked through the peep hole... Allen... And my biggest regret of the day... I opened the door...

"I brought chicken!" were the first words.

"Okay...", which was received as "Come on in." Which he did...

I heard some further commotion on the stairwell. I looked down to the mid floor landing,  and there was Mrs. Allen. Baby in one arm, two baby stuff laden totes, and a plastic bag of baby bottles.

I scurried down to assist, she offered baby, which I declined, and took the bottles and a tote... Introductions were made once she made it into the apartment, and load put down. Her name was.... Alicia... sure... that's what it was...

She was a cute little thing... Bounced back nicely from squeezing out the pup... I think it was a female baby. In retrospect, and even at the time... I found myself not really caring about the infant's gender.

"How did you know where I lived?", I asked.

"The emergency contact list."

Everyone in our shop carried a contact list, with numbers and addresses, in case we got called to deploy. The first guy is contacted. He in turn contacts the next guy, who contacts the next guy... etc., etc. When you got the call, you had 15 minutes to "shit, shower, and shave and get to base with your go bag.

So began one of the longest days of my young life.

We made small talk for an hour or so. Allen proceeded to eat the chicken he brought.

Alicia had the life experience of a gnat. She was the type of cute, that a guy insecure as Allen would sequester away in the hopes that she does not realize how much better she could do. This led her to not having a whole lot to say. About 1 PM, my wife informed me she was going to watch some TV.

By now, the small talk had gotten microscopic.

I tried engaging Alicia, but found that to be as deep as a drop of water on a glass table top. In the middle of listening to what she had for dinner the last week... The baby started throwing a hissy.

Alicia then... BEFORE getting the little tyke... whips her boobs (PLURAL) out. THEN gets up to get the infant.

I excused my self for a cigarette... And Allen asks me if I could not smoke. I remember laughing.

As I was finishing the cigarette, feeling sated with nicotine, but feeling beat down that I would have to go back in there... X1 comes out... Light's up and said something that I will remember til the day I die.

"If you leave me alone with those people again, I will fucking kill you."

I laughed... was NOT the reaction she wanted. She then asked me, with a look of worried concern, "Why both boobs????"

After we came back in, Allen was sitting at the kitchen table. Alicia on the floor, on a spread out blanket, Baby going to TOWN on a teet. I have heard truckers eat soup with more decorum.

I tried... I really tried... After 5 more minutes of sub atomic, quark level, small talk, I just got up and went to the couch with X1 to watch TV.

For about two fucking hours. We sat and watched TV. They kinda talked to each other. I was hoping that the hint of "Could you please get the fuck out?" would be received. It was not.

About 5 PM rolls around. A friend from the shop calls.

"DOUGIE! What're ya doin'???"

"Entertaining... Please come save me."

"I will head over."

Tee hee!!! SHARE THE MISERY!!!!

McDaniels showed up about an hour later. Twelve pack under one arm... already cold... Bless him...

We played some music, low volume, as not to disturb the baby... who was starting to take a strong disliking to being "not home".

Again, out with both boobs... McDaniels uttered the loudest whisper of "SHIT!" I had ever heard.

X1 and I headed out for a smoke, McDaniels, who did not smoke, joined us... I asked if he could get my wife a beer, he agreed and went in... I quickly laid out a plan to the Mrs. We went back in, announced we were making a beer run...

McDaniels gave me the "Oh, you clever son of a bitch" look. He mentioned, "I have plenty for all..." (subtext: CHECK!)

"Well, we need some for tomorrow too... Be right back." (CHECKMATE, BITCH!)

I don't think I have ever more gleefully escaped a residence where I paid rent. X1 and I ran up the store, bought some beer, I let her pick the brand as a form of apology for letting the Allen's in.

We got back to the complex, made out in the parking lot for a hot minute... Girded our loins... Headed back up, and upon entering heard the funniest exchange...

Alicia: "What do you think of our baby?"

McDaniels: "I would like to drop kick it off the balcony."

I surmise that she did not know he was not kidding.

For the next two hours, the kid did nothing but scream. At one point, I asked, "Is that thing okay?"

"Yeah... Probably getting tired."

McDaniels perked up... "Me too... So very tired." This earned him the "Please don't go... and if you must, TAKE ME WITH YOU" look.

X1 announced, "I am beat too... I think I am gonna lay down."

It was 8:30 on a Saturday night.

I mustered the world's worst fake yawn. I mean I went over the top. I ended it with something that sounded like the Cowardly Lion from "The Wizard of Oz" coughing up a hairball.

Allen and Alicia gave NO inclination that the hint was received...

I finally said, "Time to call it a night..."

After twenty minutes of gathering all the baby stuff... They left...

Allen looked up from the landing, "We have to do this again sometime."

I remember being too dumbstruck to respond...

Monday, I had gotten mad enough that when he came running up, "What's going on THIS weekend???? Huh???"

"Not a damn thing. Don't fucking ever fucking show up to my fucking door uninvited again."

Message received. I know because I made him repeat it back to me.

___________________________ 

I was taught that a guest pretty much has carte blanche. You do what you can to make them comfortable and feel welcome.

I was taught to be a good guest. Understand that the rules of the house apply.

When Allen showed up, I was not "aged" enough, not cynical enough, to realize after an hour, I could have just said, "Hey, we have stuff to do, you got to go." I didn't really know that was an option. UNTIL THAT DAY.

I remember thinking that he was a new guy... He did not have a McDaniels to hang with. All he had was Tits McGee and Baby Slurps A Lot. I tried to be accommodating. I went above and beyond. I remembering thinking that he tried to hard to force a friendship... The best friendships occur organically.

That long, arduous day helped establish a rule that I apply to this very day: IF you have been in my house, there is a good chance I will be more than happy to have you as a guest again. Just fucking call first. Also... If I ever see a mother whip out both boobs... I gotta ask...

We sang dirges in the dark,

d

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Lyrical Musings

I would first like to thank Mom and Dad for helping with the content of the last two posts. Much like "being alive", I could not have done it without you their input.

This week, I heard five or six songs (fully realizing the fixation on five - I see it too). They contain some of the most personal, soul etching lyrics. They may not mean a whole lot to you, but they shaped the hell out of me. In no particular order, but number one is number one for a reason.

5) "Lashing out the action, returning the reaction. Weak are ripped and torn away."

Are there songs by Metallica that are better? Maybe. Opinions vary. However, this was the first lyric I had ever heard, from the band whose every album would be owned by me, in almost every medium available, at one time or another. Except "St. Anger" and "Lulu"... I don't know what the hell was going on with those... Can't all be winners - the weak are ripped and torn away.

This song, "Battery" starts off with an acoustic melody. I remember my friends in 9th grade warning me how "Heavy" this band was. You hear this opening, and you think, "How hard can it be?"... Then it REALLY starts. If you had not heard of them before... you had never heard anything like this...

This song is seen as a shout out to the "Bay City Bangers", the earliest supporters of the band. In their early days, they routinely played a club, the Old Waldorf, 444 Battery St. in San Francisco. "Cannot kill the family, Battery is found in me."

This song is drive. It is power. It is a nuclear fusion reactor compressed into 312 seconds... It is perfect for the gym. It is perfect for yardwork. It is the song for gritting your teeth, and getting the fucking job done - whatever the job may be.

I remember driving Shelby Summers to an after school skirmish in our senior year of high school and this is the song he wanted to hear to get psyched up. My trusty cassette was at the ready.

This, like a lot of the entries, marks a sonic way-point in my life... There is "Before Metallica" and there is "After Metallica".

The is probably my favorite album, every note perfection, the mixing and production is impeccable. This is the album, if stranded on a deserted island and could only pick one, I would choose as my go to. Much like Charlize Theron is my go to if ever stranded on a deserted island and could only pick one...

4) Tie... ""Hey, Hey Mama said the way you move, Gon' make you sweat, gon' make you groove."

and 

"You ain't seen nothin', til your down on the muffin, Then you're sho' to be changin' your ways."

Ann Wilson of Heart said, "Robert Plant, when he sang that... he WAS sex."

The song was off of Led Zeppelin's "IV". Much like "Battery", it was my introduction to Led Zeppelin. I had heard "Stairway To Heaven" on the radio... And mentioned to my brother's friend that it was a great song... and he tossed me this cassette. Thanks, Huggins. Changed my life forever.

Within a year, I was listening to the last song on that album as I waved bye-bye to my virginity. I am pretty sure it was the same cassette.

This track was bluesy. This track was rock. This track was just nasty. In 1999, "The Guitar" magazine ranked this the 7th greatest, "Riff of the Millennium".

Of course, the song is about an aging canine that hung around the studio while the album was recorded. The elderly dog's only routine activity was "visiting" a bitch two houses away.

Again... Before Led Zeppelin... After Led Zeppelin. And this was my gateway drug.
_____

Steven Tyler never wrote a truer lyric than the one in bold above... I remember every detail about the day, NAY the moment, my life changed forever. I remember gazing upon the object that would bring the greatest joys... and the deepest sorrows...

I didn't even really engage in any activity with it... I just marveled. Looked at it. Might have poked at it like you would, if you weren't sure such a magical thing could exist...

I could feel changes, yes, physically of course, but not just sequestered to the lower abdominal area... No, I could feel synapses rewriting themselves. Brain chemistry altering. Things that moments before were absolutely critical to my happiness and well being were reduced to trinkets... baubles... inconsequential.

Having an older brother, I had seen magazines containing pictures of scantily clad or no clad women. This was different. Shit. Got. Real!

I don't recall the next time I heard "Walk This Way"... But I remember it making a fuck tonne of more sense. I then heard songs I had heard a million times before, and they were brand new... A deeper level of understanding had emerged.

I had applied the "Vagina Filter"...

"Oh... It's is not about a flower... He's talking about a chick!!! HOLY SHIT BALLS! I get it NOW!"

And it was as the great philosophizer Tyler had declared. I had been "down on the muffin", and yes... I was most definitely "sho to be changin' my ways."

3) "Baby, I'm yours, and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky."

This is the feels... All the feels. This song has been a part of my life since it began. This is my parent's song.

The song will slay me almost every time. Mostly due to Barbara Lewis' insane vocals. There is a sincerity that comes through in her delivery. She means that shit. She ain't fucking playing.

I have discussed this tune with Mom. "Why this one? The sixties were littered with love songs."

Mom asks me, "What's the first word?"

"Baby."

"Exactly... And the next word is 'I'm', but by putting the other person first, this song was unique."

The one thing I have learned from being around people who have been in a loving relationship for FIFTY PLUS years is just that... It is not just about  you. It is love when you put the other person first AND they do the same for you.

Where you would normally say "I am gonna do X... I have done X before... Never had a problem doing X before". When you stop and say, "Hey... I would like to do X, but how will make them feel?" Shit... you just might have fallen in love. There is no cure and it will, statistically speaking, end badly. JOY!

A lot of the songs from the mid-60's were singers declaring the THEY love or adore a special person. Who gives a damn how that special person feels about it...

I just know that from now, until 2 + 2 = 3, that if this song is heard by my mother or father, they stop what they are doing, they find each other, and they kiss.

2) "Question is, not does love exist, but when she leaves, where she goes."

From the album "Diver Down", the song "Secrets", this lyric will take me to Junior year, high school. Yes, it is about a girl. It is about a girl I never worked up the nerve to talk to. Not that it would have helped...

This is about regret to me. Unanswered questions will always fill me with regret.  I have zero problem making a decision... IF I have the information needed to make said decision...

I think this song resonates to me so profoundly is because it played one winter night while I was cruising the mean streets of Augusta, Kansas. Augusta had a great cruise. You would see your friends. Again and again. Eventually you would park, say "Hey", find out where the parties were going to be.

You knew everybody's vehicle. You made mental notes of where you saw them last... In case... Ya know... You want to say "Hey" later...

It had to be November, 1988... Later in the evening... I remember the cruise had picked up after the Friday night football game. Saw her car on one or two orbits... Then she was gone... Without a trace...

Then the lyric hit...

If it were not the perfect lyric, manifesting in real life, at that moment... it probably would not remind me of her... Every damn time I hear the song.

1) "So. So you think you can tell, Heaven from Hell, blues skies from pain."

Yet another, "Ow... Right in the blood pump!" Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here"

I was discussing this one with Mom just last month. I played it for her. I told her I don't know why it caused the emotional reaction that it did.

She said, "You don't like seeing people hurt."

That is part of it... I mean, I have not had a hard life. Hell... I have had a stupid simple and easy life. I can honestly say that any hardships that have befallen my bumbling self were of my own doing.

I have made decisions that led to life not being as easy as it could be. In Augusta, I think I purposely made some less than stellar decisions out of sheer boredom.

This song... To me... It causes the distress because I can always think of a person, in my present or my past, who invariably seems to be zooming headlong to heartache or headache.

You know this person. They describe a fork in the road to you. They lay out the pro's and con's of each path before them. They ask you for your opinion, and you point out the path of least trial and tribulation... and you shake your head as they gleefully skip to the loo down the path leading to ruin.

You want to ask them... Can you tell the difference between Heaven and Hell? Can you tell blue skies from pain?

Now... the hardest thing... is being able to ask yourself the same thing. Am I able to tell the difference?

I do not like seeing people I care about hurt. This lyric reminds me that sometimes, they are going to hurt. And it reminds me that sometimes, you have to let them hurt.

_______________________________

The great thing about music is that I could pick another five songs next week and explain why the lyrics mean so much to me.

As my Dad would be wont to point out, "If all the songs and lyrics are special, then none of them are."

I see his point... I would counter with, "Have you read the same book before, at different times, and it mean something different each time?"

He would then shut it down with, "No, that's your Mother with her Bible."

While true, situations dictate how things are perceived - and remembered. Thankfully, I have a good memory.. and a lot of songs.

Most of all you have to hide it from the kids,

d

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Five Questions From Dad

This is a quasi-factual representation....

1) "Did you ask your Mother?"

Yeah, Dad. You read it on Sunday.

2) "Why five?"

I dunno... Because ten would be daunting?

3) "Is there a time limit?"

I guess not...

4) "Do I really have to do this?"

No.

5)  "Wasn't that five?"

Thanks for playing, Dad.

__________________________

This never took place... But it would turn out reeeeeally close to this...

Mad props to Dad,

d

Five Questions From Mom

For this particular offering, I asked Mom to ask me five questions she honestly wants the answers to.

See if you can spot the trend...

1. Do you know any happily married atheists?

That I could name readily? No. Then again, my not knowing of them does not mean they don't exist (ironic sentiment for an Atheist, eh?). There are happily married atheists and there are unhappily married atheists. There are happily married Christians and there are unhappily married Christians.

If they are unhappily married, I sincerely doubt that Atheism is the culprit if both partners are atheists. Just because you lift the veil of religion, you don't gain super powers... except for that of being able to spot fairy tales for what they are.

The spouse could have gained a lot of weight... They could be taking the other one for granted... Like a worn out record, of their favorite song... Leading to correspondences in the personal adds... and that leads to the Pina Colada song STUCK IN YOUR HEAD... You're welcome. For the record... She was a cheating bitch... She put an ad in the paper first... It's all on her. Thanks, Rupert.

I may have mentioned to some, or in a previous blog, or in person, that if you ask a person to describe themselves in five words, it is a glimpse into their psyche. For example, if you asked me to describe myself in five words, I would start with "Dougie". It is who I am. Then rest of the list goes "Human, Son, Artist, American" With me being first (no surprise there...), it shows that my my identity... my individuality and uniqueness are important to me. Second is the intellectual aspect, being a human being. I hate it, but it is true.

The third, Son, is because I do have wicked awesome parents who were always there for me and made all this possible. Artist... Whether it is writing, doodling, or even to an extent, programming. I like to think I add that little bit of my artistic flair to the creation.

The last is just self explanatory... I am proud of and truly do love this country... and hopefully it will be great again once the impeachment proceedings are done... Any. Day. Now.

I bring this up because if you have Groom, when asked to describe themselves, starts off with "Christian... without doubt, 110%, all glory to Him, Lord of Lords, The Lion and The Lamb"... Well, Bride damn well better be okay with being number 2. The only way I can see that happening is if when asked, their answer for the numero uno slot is pretty much the same rote propaganda and brainwashing and her betrothed.

2. Do you know any happy atheists (other than celebrities)?

As with Christianity, where there is a "spectrum of belief", in Atheism, there is a "spectrum of disbelief".

This guy is at one end of the spectrum of belief... He is caught, hook line, and sinker... Now, he may be happy in his faith, but I am sad just watching that. Other Christians don't go in for the whole "literal" interpretation of the so-so book. They also go to church only when the Cowboys kick off at 3:30.

It goes into "control". That man in the clip, he has a warm security blanket, encasing him in a sense of moral superiority, and basically removing that pesky "free will" and "independent thought" from his poor little brain. He is submissive. I am not. I see that security blanket as a fucking straight jacket.

My atheism does not define me. It is not the overriding and deciding factor in how I go about my daily life. I don't stop to think, "Will this piss off a non existent deity?" before buying that new bottle of Jack.

I am probably happier than some believers because I DON'T have to run through some spiritual gambit when making a decision. I don't have to stop and psychically talk to an invisible sky daddy to see if buying a new vacuum cleaner is the right thing to do.

I joke and say I am a "Militant Atheist", meaning I will only get into heated debates about "Star Trek" captains. There are some who are out there that truly believe that organized religion is the greatest obstacle to the human race moving forward. They do their best to denounce, disrupt, and decry religious influence. It makes them happy. Of course, if they were believers, going out and trying to convert them thar heathen atheists would make them equally spiritually erect.

So, do I know any happy atheists? Probably. Here is the caveat.. It hardly comes up. It is not that important. If it does come up, it is along the lines of,

"Oh, you're an Atheist?"

"Yeah."

"Cool... So anyways, Picard was waaaaaaaaaaaaaay better than Kirk."

"Go suck a dick! Without Kirk, there is no Picard."

"What about Janeway?" says token interloper.

"FUCK OFF!", shout the two Atheists in unison.

See... We can swear and not have to ask for forgiveness. Pretty fucking cool! SEE!!!!

3. What do you think you need in your life now, to make everyday better or more enjoyable?

Weed. Just kidding. Sorta. Oooooh... A kid???? NOT GONNA HAPPEN MOM!

First, let's set the definitions... There is being "happy" and there is being "content". I have a nice big ass TV, which according to some, has the best quality they have ever seen. Does that make me happy? A smidge, but it makes me content as hell that my "Main TV" checkbox is ticked off. Good fridge? CHECK! Bottle of Jack? CHECK! Some cokes to go with said Jack? CHECK!

Happiness is not the natural state. It just is NOT. You show me a person who walks around and says "I am happy all the time!" and I will show you a person that life has not taken a dump on yet.

People love to put up the meme about how "Darkness can't repel darkness, it takes a light to do that." That sorta hokey shit. Well, Francis, that light... has to fight to be... to exist. The Darkness just IS. If you go out into outer space, you will not be amazed by the "brightness". It is dark.

"But what about all those stars???" Um, Pum'kin... That is light from something that is dead now. Sweet dreams.  

If you light a match... a candle... turn on a light... to repel darkness... it has a cost. It is an expenditure of some resource or energy in order to fight the black...  Meanwhile, the darkness... waits. It is ALWAYS there.

Now, should you go silently into that dark night? Just embrace the darkness and become some little emo/goth person? No... Fight that urge!!! (Unless you just love the aesthetic and style of that scene, which I get... I DO have a blond, long haired dog... so... black is not always the best option for me.)

I am wary of the perpetually happy... And just as wary of the perpetually pessimistic... It is the rare combination of when the two meet, fall in love, and just work... Counterbalancing and enhancing... I call them "Mom and Dad".

I would probably say a change would make my life better. My job, while paying the bills, has morphed away from what really made it rewarding. It has presented me with new challenges, but not the type of challenges I would have sought out on my own.

The area I am in could be considered "Occupied Territory". I would like to not be in the Dallas area. Dallas itself is "something I have to get through" to get to somewhere I want to go. It holds no appeal to me.  I want to go to the ren fest? Ugh... Gotta go through Dallas. I want to go see Metallica in Arlington this June? Ugh... Gotta go through Dallas.

I could also do with a lady... One who meets all my wants and desires... Fulfills all my requirements in a companion... Intellect, wisdom, passion, empathy...  Heart of an angel, with a body that would make Satan say "DAYUM! I love me some sin, but that ass game is too much!"

She doesn't exist... So... Why dwell? (That would be the match burning out and the darkness coming back in.)

I am content, Mom. Happiness does occur, swear. Don't worry.

4. Where will you likely move to when you retire, or if you could easily move now?

I think I wrote that one already... TA DA!!!!

And I kinda covered it a few paragraphs ago... If I were to stay in state, it would be to take advantage of the retirement system I have been in for going on TEN YEARS!!!! (Insert Piven from "Gross Pointe Blank" here).

In state: I would scope Austin area, then Waxahachie, then maybe a whacked out. throw a dart at a dartboard, place... Make it my own.. As long as I can get a Jack n Coke, I am happy... Or at least content.

Non Texas choices: Where weed it legal. Just kidding. Sorta.

Let's not forget international options... Being able to claim "Political Asylum" is now valid.

"Have you seen our president? Fucker's crazy and shit!"

"Valkommen to Sverige!"(45 SLAM!)

5. When and where were you, when you were the happiest?

I remember summer at the campground in Michigan, probably 10 years old or so, where the days seemed to go on forever... We might have been there for 4 days, I don't recall, but they started at dawn and went to "passing out". Good times.

There were the summers in Duncanville, '82, '83... Armstrong Pool... Watching "Price Is Right" and "I Love Lucy"... Then out the door... returning "at dark".

I also mark happiness by when I discovered music that I still love to this day... Huggins giving me a copy of Led Zeppelin IV. Duncanville also being where I learned of Van Halen, Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith. Musically rewarding age... Kansas was where Metallica really took hold.

Then there were the USAF days... That period had the added benefit of my whole being a whore thing when I came back from Turkey cute... and freshly divorced...

Yeah... Good times. It helped that the shop I was in would roll out as a group, If we went out, it was 10 to 20 of us. Espirit de Corps they call it.  It was definitely my most "social" time. Also, the most drunk era. Weird how the two went hand in hand.

These days, I look forward to Scarbourgh Faire... I look forward to May's event. I have a couple of concerts coming up this summer...

There are moments of happiness every day - you just have to recognize them. Two weeks ago, found out that I don't have cancer! That was neat... I was still a bit sad that I would not get to smoke weed... FOR MEDICINAL PURPOSES... Just kidding. Sorta.

____________________________

Mom wants me to be happy. I get that. I appreciate it.

She also knows where I get 50% of my genetic make up. "Happiness" is a good idea and all, BUT since I am my Father's son... 

I am always waiting for the shoe to drop. I am always waiting for shit to go bad. Sometimes I will stop something good going on... JUST because I know it will eventually go tits up...

I am working on it though... Getting there, Mom. Thanks for asking.

The light is strong, and the man is weak,

d

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