That's not my beautiful...

Ever look in the mirror and one of those WTF moments?

Umm… well, yeah. Me, either…

Let’s throw out the literal mirror here and think about your life. I wonder how I got to be “that guy.” I don’t have a problem being that guy, and he isn’t even that bad a guy to be. But how did I get here? I don’t remember getting here. I remember things that happened between then and now, but not how that got me here.

Does that make sense?

I guess life just tends to happen and occasionally you have to reassess and accept where you are. Or is it who you are? But I don’t for the life of me know the how or why.

It's happened to you

Here’s a situation that every guy has had to deal with.

Your lady friend hangs out with "that guy," you know the one, the one that’s after your lady friend. And what do they say every time?

That’s right: “We’re just friends.”

Bullshit. We know it’s bullshit. How? Because we’ve all been "that guy" at some point. Maybe we acted on it, maybe we manned up and waited our turn, whatever. The point is, we know that when two people click, it’s not a “just a friend” scenario.

Of course, then she gets upset because “jealousy is so unattractive.” You know what honey? You’d be more upset if we weren’t jealous.

Then it becomes a trust issue. “Why don’t you trust me?” And what have we all said?

Right again: “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

It’s that fucker we don’t trust! Am I right? We say the same thing every single time. And perhaps just this once, we’re actually right just about every time.

Not that we ever win the argument. You’re lady friend is going to do what she’s going to do. If you’re lucky, when “that guy” makes his move your lady resists and comes crying to you. “How could he do that? We’re just friends!”

And if you aren’t lucky? Well… you’re going to have to find a new lady friend.

Blame

I can take the blame
It was never a game
To make it cleaner
Please see the way clearer

I can’t leave you now
You won’t even know how
Keep your mind stiller
Hearts seek to find filler

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

I can take the shame
More my share of the pain
You’re still all alone
With thoughts easily known

Put your hate on me
If it can set you free
To share the bitter
If you can feel better

You’re out on your own
Nothing ties you to home
The world will not change
You can still feel the same

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

I’m willing to go
You have to let me know
We can find a way
There’s only that one day

If you hold me down
I know I can still drown
I can’t be the sign
Reminder of what died

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

The malice you find
It’s not easy to hide
Something yours to keep
Nothing to do with me

If you reach a day
Where you find your way
I can find you then
For forgiveness to bend

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

Clear the air

Occasionally I like to have a cigarette. Regularly I enjoy a good cigar. Routinely I partake in a cocktail.

Stop judging me.

I'll make you a deal, I won't smoke in your house, if you stop being a vegetarian in mine.

Fair?

Just to clarify.

I guess I must be confusing, because it seems like many of the people around me have really off the wall impressions. I’m a relatively uncomplicated guy as far as things go, but apparently that doesn’t always get across. I take full responsibility here.

People seem to want to fix me, which is intriguing because I never knew that I was broken. It’s always something to get at the “real” me, as opposed to this petty impersonation I’ve been doing all my life. It really runs the gamut: quit drinking, get married, go gluten free, yadda, yadda, yadda.

On a side note, and I believe I speak for everyone here. Vegans? Fuck off. Seriously.

Back to the topic at hand, some people have solutions to the problems that I’ve never noticed. Let’s just settle this here, because apparently I’ve been unclear. Here’s my schtick:

I’m kind of an asshole, but sometimes I’m funny.

That’s it! Simple, right? Told you so. So now we can all leave my “inner teddy bear” or any other bullshit you think I’m hiding alone.

Thanks!

Would you date someone with children?

I suppose that depends on whether this is a hypothetical question or if you really have someone in mind...

5 Things I've thought about...

...that you probably haven't...

1) Polytheistic religions are more tolerant than monotheistic faiths.

When you’ve got a bunch of gods (and even some favorites,) it’s not a huge leap to accept someone else’s gods. There will always be the inevitable “my gods are better than your gods” argument. But it’s not as extreme as saying yours is the only true God and all unbelievers must die!

2) Men and women are equally stupid; we’re just stupid about different things.

People sometimes complain that men only think with their penises. That may be true, but at least our penises never overthink the situation.

3) I overuse ellipses.

Because I like to let it linger…

4) Boxing is not about beating people up.

But roller derby is.

5) Squash is gross because of the rotten texture.

Squash has a soft/mushy and sometimes stringy texture. Think of all the other things you eat, what else has that consistency? That’s right, rotten things. If you have an apple that gets overly soft, you throw it away. If your steak is mushy and stringy before you’re about to put it on the grill, you toss it out. Squash has the consistency of other things that are past due. And that’s what you want to eat? Really?

Between a rock and a cold hard slap

We’ve all heard women say it: “Just don’t lie to me.” She’d much rather hear something hurtful that’s true than be deceived. She can forgive almost anything, as long as you are honest.

Bullshit.

Nobody wants to hear the truth all the time. Man, woman, child, your dog, nobody. The truth quite often sucks, that’s why we made up lying in the first place! Lying is great when used properly. Women know this, but sometimes they are in a bad mood and need to blame it on their man. Here are three of the conversation starters to get us on the defensive.


Does this _______ make me look fat?

Umm… no? There’s no right answer here. If you say no you are lying and not even paying attention. Saying yes is even worse. We’ll call this the sitcom classic.


Do you think she’s pretty?

Who?

You know who.

Well of course I know who, the pretty one. That’s what pretty people are for!

I know you were looking.

Dammit…


Do you think I should get breast implants?

Yes, no, whatever. I know there is a big media push about beauty, but ya’ll are over-thinking this stuff. We’re guys, generally naked is all it takes to make us happy. But no, you need us to take a position. And you get mad at us even if we say no! As far as I’m concerned if you want a bigger bust by all means go for it. But you can always just do it the old fashioned way and get pregnant.

Guys, you can't win here. Forget about watching the game, it's over.

Rum Cake

So I've been looking around to find a rum cake recipe. Why? I dunno, because I'm an alcoholic with a bundt pan I guess. Get off it.

Anyway, I've been looking around and every recipe I'm finding has an ingredient list that includes...ahem... "yellow cake mix." Really? You're the type of person who makes Hamburger Helper from scratch, aren't you? Boxed pre-mix items are not, let me be clear, ARE NOT a recipe! It's the absence of a recipe, that's the entire point. You add water or milk and viola! It's magic!

I want to be fair here, there's nothing wrong with yellow cake mix. It creates a light and fluffy pile of mediocrity fit for all occasions. But if you are going to be audacious enough to post a recipe, you cannot include "yellow fricking cake damn mix" as an ingredient.

End of public service announcement.

Just saying

So this girl starts drilling me on what my “type” is. Don’t worry, she’s a friend and presumably (hopefully) off the market and just curious. Why is she curious? Because she figures if she knows my type, she can go out and find me one. Oddly enough, if it was that easy I’d just go fucking get one.

But as it stands, I really have no idea how to answer that question. It’s a little known fact that all men have the exact same type. It’s called “out of our league.” We don’t ever get it, or eternally regret it if we do. So our actual type is known as “opportunity” or “what’s available.” It sounds so crude to say it out loud, so we just feint ignorance.

I know it seems simple, but I’ve had enough people try to set me up to know that it’s not. I’d be amazed beyond all expectation of a blind date did not involve a bat shit insane woman. But realistically, who in their right mind goes on a blind date?

Old Dog, no new tricks...

Getting older is rough, let me tell ya. Your metabolism slows down, your physical recovery isn't what it used to be. Energy is a problem, so you rely on coffee and start to resent children. Eyesight, waist/hip ratio, hairline... you name it, it goes to shit.

And I've had to do some terrible, terrible things lately because of it. I mean truly awful and despicable. Heartbreaking. I've had to deny myself the cold beer my body so richly deserves after a hard days work.

It's absurd, I know.

Q&A

I realize that many people are completely enamored with me and have many questions that they would love to ask if only I granted them an audience. Since I’m quite obviously never going to be able to bestow that honor on many people, I’ve decided to tackle some of the more common questions for all to share. You’re Welcome!

Q: Why do you resent pedestrians?

A: I don’t resent them, I just believe that the laws of physics supersede the laws of men.

Q: Is it true that you’re in love with yourself?

A: Great question, it’s a common misconception, but it’s actually everybody else who is in love with me. I think I’m pretty okay.

Q: What makes you think you’re so badass?

A: A lifetime of experience in badassery.

Q: You seem very judgmental, do you really believe that it’s your job to tell everybody else what to do?

A: Let me just start off by saying that I really do enjoy doing charity work, so it never feels like a job at all. I like to help people reach their potential, and it’s important to me personally to give back to the community.

Q: Are there any people you look up to, or are you so self-centered that you think you’re above everybody?

A: I look up to many of people; I’m not particularly tall.

Q: I think you’re incredibly arrogant to think that all women are completely in love with you. What gives you the right to treat people that way? Prick!

A: I’m simply playing the percentages here; it’s truly nothing personal. It’s a little known FACT that 87% of all women have a deep-seated desire to see me naked. It is so little known that a large portion of these women aren’t even aware of it. I don’t argue with the science, I just live it.

Q: Do you have any ambition in your pathetic little life?

A: I do have a few goals left to achieve. One thing I’d like is to give the Pope an opportunity to meet me. I think that would be a gratifying experience for him.

Q: Have you ever heard of a “God Complex?”

A: As I recall, it’s one of the prerequisites for running for president.

Q: If you’re so great, why are you going to die alone?

A: Mostly luck, but I appreciate alone time when I can get it. Don’t worry, in the future I’ll discuss how you can be more like me.

Q: Are you willing to take anybody else’s advice?

A: I work really hard not to. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression and think they are doing things well. Self-esteem is important, but sometimes tough love is just as crucial.


I hope that this has been as enlightening and helpful for you as I intended it to be. Please keep sending in your questions and I will try to waste my time on you at my next opportunity.

I read good

Why is it that I feel guilty wasting an evening watching television or a movie, but I don’t feel nearly as bad spending those same four hours reading a book? The only thing I can think of is some false ideology ingrained from my youth. When I was a kid we were always told that reading was good, while watching TV was bad. Aren’t they really the same thing? If I spend several hours reading a book, I get exactly as much accomplished as if I was watching a movie. Less really, if you consider how far along I get in the storyline.

And don’t give me any of the “but you use your imagination” while reading nonsense. The suspension of disbelief to accept that the fat awkward looking guy is married to the unfairly gorgeous gal in EVERY GODDAMN SITCOM is stretching my imagination about as far as it can go. A story is a story, and whether you’re following actors playing a scene or reading the play, it all ends the same.

I’m not saying that television is better than reading a novel. My point is that in the end you accomplish the exact same thing. Unproductive time dedicated to entertainment. Fair enough. But I still feel better at the end of the day if I wasted time reading than other things. It don’t make no sense, ya’ll.

Here's the thing...

I know that I've espoused my hilariousness, and it's absolutely true. However...

You either get my humor or you don't. And it's not "I don't know why he thinks that's funny." It's "what the hell is wrong with that guy?"

I recognize this, and I don't care.

Don't care much, never did.

I’m oddly comfortable hurting people’s feelings.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not some sadistic schmuck who gets his kicks making children cry. Truth be told I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings at all, it just doesn’t bother me when I do. If circumstances arise in which, for whatever reason, some gets hurt… I’m okay with that. It would be fair to call me insensitive.

There are three basic reasons for my comfort:

1) I am completely unwilling to walk on eggshells for other people and I have a sense of humor. Everything seems to be a sensitive topic these days, as I’ve mentioned time and again. I don’t understand why people like to blow things out of proportion based on some subjective “political correctness.” Something has to be specifically, intentionally, and maliciously offensive for me to even notice.

On the same vein, I try to keep my sense of humor about things. Life is far too long and absurd not to elicit an occasional chuckle. Everything can be funny in the right context; you just have to be willing to accept it. Cancer can be downright hilarious, particularly in conversations with cancer patients. I understand that there is certainly a time and place for everything, but in that right time and place nothing is off limits.

2) People need to calm. The fuck. Down.

This is probably the root cause of my insensitivity, and at the heart of my humor. Seriously folks, if you happen to randomly hear someone tell a retard joke and you just happen to have a retarded kid back at home, rest assured they were not talking about you. Mental retardation is pretty damn tragic… and hilarious. Again: context. Take a moment to laugh, your kid’s too dumb to be offended.

Try to remember that most conversations are about general life situations. It seems that many people are so self-centered that they think everything relates to them. And if these people want to be offended, and rest assured there is a large and loud section of the population constantly on the prowl to do just that, they’ll find a reason to get upset. And if you’re one of those people, I’ll be happy to oblige because I don’t give a shit.

3) I’m a bad person.

You’ve probably been thinking of this the entire time. “He doesn’t care about other people? What an asshole!”

Yep.

Just so ya know

It's too bad I'm not a happier guy. I'm pretty effing hilarious when I'm in a good mood.

Ah, the memories

Remember back when you were a kid and all you wanted was to grow up? You'd get to stay up as late as you want, eat dessert before dinner, and decide what you're doing on the weekend for yourself. And you were absolutely right, when you grow up you do have the freedom to do all those things. And though we may not have known it, that's all we really wanted. Control and freedom, freedom and control.

Of course, now that we're (presumably) adults it's not anything like we thought. I tend to wish I could go to be earlier, try to avoid eating dessert because it catches up with me to fast, and spend my weekends dealing with laundry and cleaning the house. We do have the freedom, but nobody mentioned all the other shit that comes with growing up.

Unnecessary commentary, but isn't it all?

Have you ever noticed how male dogs always seem more confidant pissing than female dogs? They just lift their leg up as if to say, "eff you fire hydrant, you're my bitch now." But female dogs? It's the awkward squat that makes you wonder if their knees are backwards, and they look apologetic about the whole endeavor.

This are the things that pop into my head from time to time. So yes, I drink to keep the demons at bay.

Culinary Expertise

You may have noticed that I routinely post pictures of food on this blog. And yes, I’m the one who does the cooking. Egads! A man who can cook? What is the world coming to!?!

Actually, only women are surprised that I can cook, most men accept it indifferently like we accept everything else. We really only overreact over sports and women. Women over 45 are surprised because they don’t know any men who can cook. Women under 30 are surprised because they have no idea how to cook. The decade and a half in-between are pretty hit or miss.

However, since apparently two separate generations are somewhat confused by the fact that I cook, I thought I’d lay out some basics here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all Julia Child on you, she was far more of a man than I could ever be.

First thing, if you are not a complete idiot, i.e. you can read; then you can cook. This is not rocket science here. If you’ve ever looked at a recipe you may have noticed the chronologically challenging nature of a cookbook. First there is step one (often with a picture,) and then you move to gasp step two! Congratulations moron, you now know how to follow directions. Feel free to hook up your own damn tv next time you move, I’m busy.

One thing that I do that some people can’t/won’t is throw things together without a recipe. This is slightly more complex since it isn’t actually written down for you. However, you mostly just mimic things that you’ve done in the past and enjoyed. I’m going to lay out my three primary rules, simply because I don’t want to think of more:

1. Butter is good
2. Olive oil is good
3. Garlic is good

Yep, that’s the extent of my thought process. Home style cooking is easy because it isn’t supposed to be pretty. Presentation is for blowhards in white hats, food ought to be ugly. My culinary experiments are very basic and simple, because I enjoy simple food. My real trick is to use fresh ingredients whenever possible, because fresh is always better. Pretty basic.

I hate to burst your bubble here if you were impressed, because it really is very simple. I can read, therefore I can cook. When I don’t feel like reading I use butter, olive oil, and garlic and hope for the best. Done deal.

People sometimes ask me why I’m still single, and I always say because I know how to cook. Look fellas, if you’re wondering if that girl is worth it, just ask yourself if she’s a better cook than you. If she isn’t, than she isn’t worth it and you need to move on, fucking immediately. What’s wrong with you?

C’mon ladies, ya’ll know it’s true! It’s not like the knife doesn’t cut both ways. If you’re wondering if that guy in your life is truly the special someone, just ask yourself if he makes more money than you do. If he doesn’t, he isn’t. Don’t even try to deny that this isn’t part of the process. Remember, “all you need is love” was written by a man with a full bank account.

Grizzly

Growing a beard is always an interesting experience, simply because people take notice. Some men who can’t grow a beard are jealous, and others are nostalgic for the days before their wives made them shave daily. Women almost universally dislike facial hair; generally for an idiotic reason.

First off, people really need to stop saying, “are you trying to grow a beard?” No, and I never have. It takes effort to refrain from growing a beard, none to let one happen. There’s no trying involved, it's just a consequence of puberty.

Secondly, and this one is personal, don’t act surprised as if you’ve never seen me with a full beard. If you’ve seen me in the last decade, there’s a 50/50 chance you’ve seen me with one. If you don’t see me regularly perhaps it’s 40/60, but still, pretty good odds. It’s winter! I let my beard grow in. It’s summer! I better cut it down. This ain’t new.

Next is the general opinion of women on facial hair. The complaint that we’ve all gotten is that it’s “scratchy.” Untrue, and I have some pretty convincing evidence. Take your hand, put it on top of your head and feel your hair. Is it scratchy? Of course not, unless you’ve got a buzz cut. Stubble is abrasive, anything longer than ¼ inch or so is just hair. And like all hair it can be thick or thin, but it’s not going to be all that scratchy. Seriously ladies, have some patience and you’ll be fine.

I’m not going to argue to sing the praises of growing a beard, though I know that many men do. I don’t do it for aesthetic reasons, and if I did I’d probably being doing it wrong. It’s pure laziness. If you have an opinion on the look feel free to share, just don’t ask if “I’m trying…”

Nope

Interesting fact: I’m not fun.

No, really. This isn’t one of those self-centered “woe is me, I’m not enjoying my life” kind of speeches either. It’s not an issue of me not having fun, though in general that’s true. My point is that I, as a person, am not any fun.

I don’t cut loose and have a good time; I’m not fun to be around. I’m not a ball and chain of suicidal depression either, it’s not like I bring down the party whenever I’m around. I’m not good at starting or finishing conversations, but I can talk in the middle. I’m amiable enough, it’s a work requirement. But I’m not any fun.

Look, we all know people who are fun. They’re the ones who suggest you go to the park at midnight and run around. They get goofy when you’re down to try and make you laugh. The people who’ll make an ass of themselves on the dance floor and not give a damn. They’ll get everybody to take a shot at a bar and make them thankful for it. Ask a stranger a random question just to make conversation. Some people are just a damn good time, and they make sure everybody has a good time with them.

Almost all kids are fun, albeit in their own way. Children laugh hundreds of times a day, primarily at inane bullshit. They skip, just for the hell of it. But the average adult smiles what, a half dozen, maybe dozen times a day? And most of mine are the polite “thanks for holding the door” variety. You have to wonder how fun people keep that attitude into adulthood.

Dude, I’m frickin boring. I go to bed early to read a book. If I find a tv show I like I’ll watch an entire season over a weekend. When I go out it’s for dinner or maybe a movie. My most interesting daily decision is whether I should shave or not. It’s my sasquatchian dilemma. None of this is fun. I’m an old man. Already.

Which works, since I’ve always been old. I’ll just have my kind of fun. Scotch.

Charles' Soliloquy

I remember being scared, wondering if I was going to act “appropriately.” Stupid. My son dies and my biggest worry is what other people are going to think about my reaction, how I behave. As if it matters. I kept telling myself that nobody’s going to care, nobody’s going to judge me. But that didn’t really help. People do care, I could feel them watching me, watching us. Wondering. “Are they going to be okay?” It's a raw time to be questioned.

I didn’t cry at first, and was mortified that I wouldn’t be able to. That’s what I’ve heard anyway, that sometimes people can’t cry when they lose a child, they just hold it all in. I didn’t want to do that, be that guy. But I didn’t want to be too weepy either, you know? I mean, there was Melinda to think about, and I figured she’d cry for both of us. And she did, we both did. We cried plenty.

But I didn’t have to cry too much or too long, I think. So yeah, that’s what I was worried about, not being able to cry or only being able to cry or… I think I was expecting at least one of those things to happen. It might be worse though, processing loss the way you’re supposed to, the guilt of outliving your son. Grief. I can still laugh; did you know that? It scared me the first time, the sound of it. My own voice seemed jarring in my own head, like I shouldn’t be allowed.

Yeah, actually a buddy of mine told me one the other day. What do you call it when you film pedestrians? Footage! Right? Get it? Eh, it’s pretty awful, maybe you had to be there. It was kind of funny. I can’t tell jokes, never could. Ask Mel, she’ll tell you. But Michael liked my jokes. Maybe I’m only good at little kid jokes.

What I don’t understand, continue to not understand is how I’m okay. I’m dealing with everything just the way I’m supposed to. Taking whatever steps they tell me to take. It’s not even really that hard. It’s not good, I don’t like it. It’s not like I’m happy, or anything like that. But I know the situation, that what happened wasn’t anybody’s fault, that I won’t ever be the same. Don’t want to be the same. Can’t be the same. But I’ll be okay. You don’t get better, I don’t think. You do move on and it get’s a little more bearable. I guess. But there’s not a fix.

I just don’t like that I’m okay. I don’t think I should be. It’s what everybody is telling me is good, I’m doing good. It doesn’t feel good to do good, not like this. Not without Mike. So I wake up sometimes at night and I have my milk, go back to bed, and have another day tomorrow.

Atheists

I don’t understand passionate atheists. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly understand atheism in a very general sense. What I don’t understand is how some people are ardent and motivated about their atheism.

I understand Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, et al wanting to spread their beliefs. You believe in God, you have a passion for your faith, you’ll want to share that. But atheism is the rejection of deities. How can you be passionate about not believing in something?

“I don’t believe in God.” Good deal, whatever. But that’s it, isn’t it? How does that conversation go further? Why do you have to justify it? Being emotional driven by a belief makes sense, I just don’t understand the drive for a disbelief.

The only way I can make sense of it is that the ardent atheists are more anti-God than disbelievers in God (though they certainly are both.) You can have a passion against deities and those who believe in them. That makes sense to me. Passion ought to be proactive in some way.

I may just be missing something and atheists have a point. They certainly have every right to believe or disbelieve in what they like, and share that with others. I guess it’s like any religion (non-religion;) I’d rather you mostly keep it to yourself. Don’t hide it or be ashamed, feel free to be open and honest. But if you preach about anything, it’s very likely you have little of consequence to say.

Why it sucks to be me

I need about $5,000. Okay, that’s not even remotely true, but I’d like around that amount of play money. If I had five grand I could pretty much buy all of the little things that have been popping up on my wishlist. These would be the more modest items, it’s not like I’d get the new house or car or anything like that.

Just at a ramble I’d get a beer brewing kit, a smoker accessory for my weber, maybe a rotisserie attachment, fly fishing gear, and a bunch of kitchen stuff. You know you’re in for a life of bachelorhood when you learn how to cook. Because let’s be honest, if you know how to cook why would you ever not be single? (zing!)

But here’s the problem, if I had $5,000 of play money, I’d use it for something responsible like paying down student debt. Damn me and my practibility…