Stuck?

So I know when I started this I said I would post randomly but frequently. And here it is almost three months later and I have four posts of nothing. My mind is blocked. I'm stuck on a loop. I'm sitting thinking of so many thinks to write about but can't find the start button. I have a shit ton to yell, rant, and or talk about; but none of it comes out when I sit down in front of this blank screen. I try to type something and the brain goes "what if you offend someone?", "Why write no one reads your shit?", "You are too stupid to have an opinion." I know pathetic, but that is my head. It gets in the way of it's self almost everyday. It constantly tells me what I can't do and why I shouldn't do this or that. It sucks because so many see potential in me that my brain just doesn't believe.

Let's just start with the ranting. Fuck politics in the ass with a pitchfork that has lemon juice glazed glass shards glued all over the tines. I'm so sick of hearing about political bullshit. The problem with politics is it's just like religion. Everyone out there thinks their way is the only way to get to the promise land. If it was that easy we would be worry free and drinking champagne out of glasses made from angels and crafted by the ecological friendly heat produced by lighting cherub farts. Here is the problem; politics is not about what works to help or serve others, it's about how people want others to fall in line with them and their beliefs. Politics and religion are in that sense are a selfish interest. Oh and don't give me that crap that people vote for others, very rarely is that the case. Most people vote based on what they can get out of it.

What really pisses me off about politics is peoples blatant need to shove that shit down others throats. I'm sick of seeing posts how Obama is the black Hitler Anti-Christ that is gonna make sure that all people over sixty are killed to line the playgrounds for all children in full padding to play with foam balls. Or Bush killed babies with nukes made from the skin of baby seals wrapped around core sections of the oldest glaciers. I'm sick of seeing the minuscule facts blown out of proportion as if it could start world war three. If Bob Smith accidentally misspelled John Stupid FUQ's name. Big deal. Stop making it out to be the end of the world. People make mistakes all the time. Shit I have had to retype forty plus words in this rant. I know this post is not on par with world politics, but I'm sure you perfect fuckers out there have never made a mistake. Or if you did, you would hope others over look it. What all this shit is A) scare/slander tactics. B) people only looking for the negative in situations. Fuck, you all might be happier and accomplish more if you tried to find the positives in your candidates and stop trying to verbally ass rape your opposition. If I want to win a fist fight I train myself to be the best, I don't go to my opponent's gym and steal all of their training equipment.

Have our leaders done fucked up things? YES! Have they done good things? YES! I know if you are a liberal you can never say that the conservatives have good ideas. You would explode from the pure confusion of believes in your tiny little open minded brain.You would have to drink gasoline and eat endangered species for every meal. And I know if you are a conservative you can never agree/back a liberal because that means you would have to sell your shoes, buy Birkenstocks, eat only vegetables and carry hugs and kisses as a self defense weapon. Here is the truth; both sides are right and both sides are wrong. If we could focus on facts. If we could get over stupid bullshit names and cliques; if we could start by focusing on not pointing out the wrongs with people only seeing the problem with the world, fixing it for all, not just a few, then moving on. Life would be simple. I know, I know; angel forged champagne glasses with cherub farts.

Cyclists = Dicks?

So as you all know I consider myself a cyclist. No I am not a racer, but I am a commuter sometimes, and definitely an enthusiast. I have only got to ride maybe 12 times in 14 weeks (due to injury), I'm 40 lbs over weight, and I smoke. I enjoy my bicycle more than most people can even imagine. I am always happy even when the ride sucks, or I'm tired or bonking. I'm on two wheels and out in the open which equals happy. Knowing this I'm confused as to why people who also ride are such dicks. Not all but there are plenty of you out there to make a blanket statement. 

So on my ride this morning from downtown Fullerton to Anaheim Hills (Monte Vista and Weir Canyon), a hard ride for me, I said hello to everyone. Runners, commuters, racers, everyone. I do this always when I'm on the bike. I have an opinion that if I'm happy doing what I'm doing I should share it and pass it on. I did the whole put a hand as to wave, said morning, even communicated as to which side I would be passing people. I do this always road or mountain. It is a nice gesture, makes riding safer, and may make someones day to let them know others see them and they do exist. I got maybe five return hellos and waves back. Out of about forty attempts. I maybe egotistical but that is a crappy ratio.

Hey Mr/Mrs 45 year old CAT 4 smile when you ride at least announce to others you are gonna pass them. Makes others happy and communication can make sure that all are safe. While I know you are probably at 85% of your max heart rate, focused on make sure you completely exhale every fourth pedal stroke of your left foot so that you do it because you are right foot dominated. A simple fucking wave, or a simple two finger "I am fucking dying here" salute would be nice. Hey you never know a little smile on the ride while you are doing your intense training to the beach and back might make that 300th loss to the 19 year old, whose training consists of 10 miles a day to college and a balanced diet of Carl's Jr. and Taco Bell, a little easier to swallow.

Dear angry commuter, I know that you have to do this. You are eco friendly, lost your car due to the economy, lost your license due to a DUI. I know it sucks because it could be worse, you could not have a bicycle. You have to leave an hour earlier than your friends, it takes you an hour longer to get home. It sucks I get it. Here is a tip, enjoy the fact that you are on a bicycle. You get to be out in the open, see the Egrets in the Santa Ana riverbed, beautiful landscaped yards, and occasionally a really, really attractive person. Hell you might even meet a friend along the way. I say smile, say hello to others, sing a song out loud as you pedal it makes the time go by and makes your trek that much more enjoyable.

All in all a little gesture of happiness could make your day better, make someone else's day better, and you never know might start changing someones opinion of cyclists when they hit the trails with their loved ones for the nice Sunday family outing. 

WTF!!!!

What the fuck is going on. I have been unemployed for over a year so you figure I would be riding my bike or what not more often. Nope, not with my luck. I have been plagued by injuries, sickness, broken bicycles and other things. Here is a list of some of the recent shit that has taken me off the trusted steed. 

1. Gout! 2 weeks.Yeah I suffer from gout the rich mans disease. Started getting bouts of 6 years ago.  Thought at first it was just my bad ankles acting up. You spend all your life playing contact sports and getting injured as much as most people get hair cuts it is gonna catch up to you some day. There are many speculations as to why I have gotten this disease; constant meat diet, not enough rest, but most likely because I have drank myself stupid more times than I can or care to remember. 
2. Knee blowing out. 2 weeks. Goes back to first year in hockey. Was kind of poor and had to use, at that time, 12 year old shin and knee guards. Well every time I hit the ice, which was pretty much every practice and game in that first year, my knees would bruise, swell up and cramp up constantly. I think I had them drained like 15 times that first year and at least once a year after that. Beer and weed helped kill the pain probably helping the gout set in.
3. Severely sprained ankle. 12 weeks and counting. This one is awesome and stupid all in one shot. When I was sixteen I drove my buddy Coop, my girlfriend at the time Nicki, and her friend down to Newport for a day of surfing and skim boarding. Well we road in the morning, rested, then went skim boarding. As I was trying to pull 360’s the wave went out. The board stuck mid rotation and my left foot along with it. My body on the other hand kept a spinning. Here is where it gets gross. I rotated around my ankle almost 360 degrees. I stood up and just like in cartoons my foot came around. Well being the dumb ass I am, I stayed at the beach. I didn’t want to cut everyone else’s day short.  I tried to surf more, failed. I tried to body surf, failed. Walked back to the car at the end of the day, drove everyone home, then went to the hospital where they x-rayed, wrapped, and put my ankle in an air cast. Two weeks later I was Ice skating. So that was the start of a bad ankle. 12 weeks ago I had some garage installer  at my house. I told him to watch out for Jake. “Jake is an escape artist.” I said. Well I come outside and before I can grab Jake I notice the guys tool belt in my yard. Jake bolts down the stairs. My first thought is “oh crap the garage door is open and he is gone.” Before I could even think to look I started to chase after him, why I am not sure. I will never catch him on a descent.  But I did it anyways. About five steps from the bottom my heel slipped off the stair. I then went plummeting to the bottom, my left foot caught the last stair on the arch and then proceeded to roll to the left. Oh yeah I was barefoot. And to make it even more insulting I was sober as well as the door was not open. Well it didn’t hurt that day but the next day it was swollen. I didn’t stay off of it. The day after that it was painful and I couldn’t walk. A week later I finally went to the hospital. Once again x-rayed, and wrapped and a new set of crutches for the ol’ gimper. It still acts up and I have tried to ride a couple of times. Every time I ride I am couch surfing the next day.
4. Broken Bicycle. Constant. Well let us see first wheels. I broke a spoke in the front and repaired it. Magilla at the bike shop said “I need to go through and re-tension them it has been almost 18 months since we built them.” I said sure, well I was off the bike anyways due to above injuries so I handed them over to him. I then proceeded to brag on FB how my hand-built wheels, (which I built under some tutelage) were bomb proof. “2000 miles and only one broken spoke blah blah blah blah blah.” That came back to haunt me the next time I rode. I broke a spoke in the back wheel. I had to limp it on back to the house. I get that up and going and now they went out of true. Fixed that. Lets see how they do tomorrow. Anyone venture to guess? Then we are on to tires which I have gone through three sets in 6 months with only maybe 500 miles in between all three sets. Had Vittoria Diamantes, they wore out. So I installed my white Verdesteins. They cut in only 200 miles. Now I am onto my new Michelin Pro 3’s. Let us see how that goes. They are notorious for cuts.
5. Wasp Sting to the eye area. 3 days and counting. Monday I tried to do a favor for my next door neighbor. I was gonna be wasp killa. She bought the spray and I went to work. I killed 12 nests on her property. Probably over 200 stingy bastards. Well as I entered her half open garage, inside a wall mounted cabinet that I opened the door to was 2 hugh nests. The disturbance of the door swinging aggravated the nests and one flew towards me. I tried batting at it hoping to get the sting in the hand or arm or not at all. The quick little bastard thwarted my attempts at striking it and landed a knock out blow next to my right eye. It hurt like hell. Worse than I have ever been punched in the eye. Which has happened on a great many occasions. Got light headed. Proceeded to kill all the nests and that son of a bitch right then and there. Next day I looked like a boxer after the second round. I iced it hoping that would bring down the inflammation. It didn’t. When I woke up this morning I felt like I should of asked my trainer to cut the eye and get the cold press so I could see. My eye was almost swollen shut. Some ice, benedryl , and Advil it is only sort of swollen now. As for riding it has affected my peripheral vision, which is bad for the riding but it has given me a mild case of vertigo due to my peripheral vision being sort of not there. Makes me feel almost like I am drunk. 

So tomorrow I am gonna try and get a short coffee shop ride in. Let’s see if I can get through one ride with nothing going wrong. 

Toilet Paper

So people why is it when you get yours hands dirty you wash them. If you face is dirty you wash it, but (pun intended) after you shit you wipe your ass? Doesn't that seem wrong to you? Really, if you sneeze you never say oh just wipe your hands it is clean enough.
People it is time to start the ass washing revolution. We do it with babies, why not with us as adults? Just think about it, your turd cutter is with in inches of your sex toys even if you wipe front to back like we were all taught your sweat can carry that little bit of bacteria down your crack and on to your naughty bits. I think we should all demand that public bathrooms have a wet nap service. We should have disinfection wipes at our convience. Maybe it is just me but I don't want my nuts getting shit on them it creeps me out, or just maybe I have had too much free time on my hands?

Her

This is an excerpt from a story I have been working on. I have come to a block but this is one of my favorite chapters. I must thank my friends who have pushed and prodded for me to keep writing even though I have not. Sioux B, Mary Cha, Miguel, and Jenna all rule. One day I will finish this story. Promise!

      “Hey asshole, you fucking blind or did your your boyfriend’s cum seal your fucking eyes shut?” Sabby vomited at the faceless driver of the car that just buzzed us as we rode into to work. She is very eloquent when she is angry. 

Sabby, or Sabbatha Lynn Green as her parents named her, is a beautiful women when she is isn’t cursing drivers with blurps that make rap stars blush. Oh yeah I guess I should explain her name. Her parents were both heavily into the metal scene and named her after what they considered the first and best metal band, Black Sabbath.  Problem was, they were expecting a boy, whose name was going to be Sabbath Bathery Green. Well when they were surprised by a little girl, they came up with the name on the spot. Her Dad jokes “We added in the “Lynn” cause we knew that with our shitty influence she would probably end up being a stripper, so we might as well help her on the way.” So you see where she gets her attitude from. Sabby is just my nickname for her, everyone else calls her Sab or Sabbatha. I am the only one that gets to use that. She beat the shit out of me the first one hundred times I used it when we were new in our relationship. She use to say “Sabby sounds like someone’s fucking pet. I’m not a fucking creature that you can call and I come, it takes a lil’ more than that Cheeks.” 

We met about three years ago. A few days after hell broke loose in America. She was helping people that had been injured in the riot fires. I myself was injured not due to fires, but some asshole that knocked me off my bike and then proceeded to try and make a bike rack out of my ass cheeks as he screamed “you fucking liberals, it is all your fault.” Hey I am all for beating people up but assuming someone’s political beliefs is just going to far, and besides the handlebars do not go into a bike rack the wheels do, idiot. Anyways Sabbatha and I met as she was attempting to figure out how to bandage lacerations in-between and around my glutes. She did her best not to laugh as I explained to her the extent of my ordeal.  I never really got to see her face as I was laying face down in a cot trying to hide my shame. I did however get to see her legs as she walked by me to get more gauze. I remember thinking that they were the sexist sticks I had every seen, but with my luck the top half would look like Quasi-modo with a touch of the witch from Snow White. She told me her name as the pain killers kicked in and the last words out of my mouth before I passed out were “Sabbatha oh yeah like Black Sabbath, ROCK ON.” Fucking really smooth. 

When I woke up I had no dignity as I realized that I was laying face down spread eagle due to the amount of bandaging amongst my buttocks. The entire burn ward, being short on supplies did not have blankets or curtains up. We were in a gym and the entire room got to see my gauzed out net, basketballs, and bat. I did my best to roll over but a voice from behind was there to tell me that if I moved I could possibly rip stitches. “If you move too quick you might end up having a set of bloody spokes.” At that moment I realized I was in love.  It was Sabby and no one else had every used my spokes euphemism for the anus. I did my best to raise my head to see the face to voice of my soul mate.

“Relax there cheeks, you might strain too hard and prolapse.” I quickly put my head back down. She let out the cutest little giggle. “Just fucking with you man. You can move all you want but walking is going to be pretty hilarious, probably look like a baby trying to walk with a diaper wedgy.”  I did my best to sit up, which just led to more of the twig and berries show for the whole room. I caught Sabby trying not to look and laugh, she was a little red faced. When I finally was able to get into a position that sort of resembled sitting, I finally looked at my angel. She is gorgeous. Not cute! She is fell out of fucking heaven, make men cry, women foam at the mouth with jealousy, no words to describe, straight beauty. She’s about five foot four, maybe shorter. Her hair is a luxurious black with chunks of velvety rose color throughout the shoulder length strands. She has the most intoxicating and rich blue colored eyes to ever gaze upon earth. Her skin is absolutely perfect, a slight shade of pink naturally with no signs of aging to be seen. Pop Noir artists have tried for years and failed to replicate lips as plush and inviting as hers, with the cutest lil’ beauty mark above them just off to the right. Her legs I described earlier, and much to my surprise, the rest of her body matches those stems equally. Her proportions are what all women dream of, a waist that is exactly ten inches smaller than her hips and bust, which I must say is so very ample. I came to find out later that it was all natural.  No way in hell would this deity of lust and beauty ever talk to me. She would surely laugh at any offering of conversation I could muster up. Well I better make it count you know, put my best foot forward and all that happy horse-shit. 

I tried to introduce myself, but the first attempt sounded more like alphabet soup in a blender. I regained my composure and poured on the charm. “Hey you are pretty funny for a broad, by the way my name is "Character X", and only people that are intimate with my ass can call me Cheeks.” Quicker than a crack whore can ask to suck your dick for some cash, Sabby retaliates “Oh, so you have a great many people intimate with your ass, or am I the first?” Oh holy shit she is witty as well, and I just went from loving this woman to worshiping the toilet paper she used to wipe her ass. Does it get any better. I remember thinking to myself at that exact moment, there has got to be something wrong with her. A fascination with feces, hermaphrodite, black widow serial killer, likes to fuck dead corpses. Something has got to be wrong with this girl. 

She laughs which allows me to keep on going “Well since you were elbow deep in there and got to know my turd cutter on a first name basis I guess it’s o.k.. Oh yeah by the way did I happen to say anything offensive while I was in never never land?” Sabby proceeds to tell me her complete loathing of the “rock on” thing or any variation of it. She has had to deal with it her whole life. She tells me that the only thing I’ve got to be embarrassed about, that came out of my mouth was uttering the words “mommy help” when they went to change the bandages. Great she now thinks I’m a goddamn Momma’s boy. We converse for awhile and she explains her name to me and is actually quite surprised that I got the correlation between band and her name. “Most assholes only say the rock on thing after I tell them my story” she squeaks out in a sarcastic little girls voice. We talk about what we did for a living, what we wanted to do, being that the future at that time was so very uncertain. I realize during this conversation that my lust for this woman is justified. The way we talk and banter back and forth is natural. It is like the rhythm of a song, it just flows. The wanting to be with her is no longer that it is now a need. She is my better half. 

        I don’t know if she felt it then too, but not a day has gone by since that moment that I have not seen her or talked to her. Three years seems like such a long time when thinking about work, sports or movies. With Sabby it seems way too short as if someone is putting a film in fast forward that I just want to leave on pause for the rest of my life. 

We roll down the street after her little episode just a few more blocks and we are back to the grindstone. I always let her take lead when we ride on narrow streets. I tell her it is because she is a stronger rider, which by the way is partially true. The real reason is even after three years of being behind her on every ride I still love watching that ass on a bicycle saddle. It is just like a girl on the back of a crotch rocket, which is the exact same shape it takes when you bend someone over the back of a couch or a chair. My personal favorite position. 

        We get to work, an eco-friendly building that looks similar to a glass house on crack. Large and awkward, it is positioned in a way so all it captures the sun with it’s walls of solar panels, thermodynamics water heating pipes. I miss old architecture. Bricks, masonry, squares and rectangles. Since 2009 California.., I’m sorry, Califas has mandated that all buildings newer than 1969 had to be retro-fitted to more sustainable energy sources. Since  we no longer purchase electricity from the United States we have to come up with different ways to fuel our country. God it has been three years and  I still can’t get used to saying “I am a citizen of Califas” when I go across the border into Vegas. 

       Sabby and I work for a rehabilitation company.  Our jobs which are boring yet somehow fulfilling are training people for positions in new fields. We have trained construction workers to become farmers, and farmers to become construction workers. We get to see the change this country has gone through at one-on-one level. When the shit hit the fan and people left Califas for America in fear of becoming a traitor we had to fill the positions. I mean for fucks sake someone has to know how to build a house, we can’t all just live in one house together. Exaggeration I know, but really so many people left in fear and confusion, that we who stayed were left with our dicks in our hands. For example I was a god damn high school janitor and Sabby was a nurse. She fixed up shit heads while I mopped up after them. This shit happens and I go through three different positions. I was a electrician. That failed when they realized I was better at electrocuting myself than getting juice to people. I was delivery guy, but my temper got the best of me on that one.  Let’s just say that there are a few cars that now have paint jobs resembling Jackson Pollock pieces. Now I am a retraining and adjustment coach. Government sponsored program that pays pretty damn well, but the real benefit is we get to reshape this strange country of ours one piece at a time.

Welcome

So talking to my good buddy, Coconut (A.K.A. Gilbert), today and he asked me what I wanted to do in life. A question that over the past year and a half or so has come up so much in my life. All I could say was "I want to be creative." That is all I ever wanted. I used to draw, paint, write and rant. It's what kept me going. Anyone that knows me well knows I love telling stories of my past that make others laugh, think, feel and kind of revolt. Well Coconut suggested I create a blog and just post short stories to get my brain flowing. The problem is while I love talking, I hate people seeing my work. I fear rejection of my ideas, my creations, and my personality. While I can talk shit all day long I worry people my be offended by my way of writing which has been described by a dear friend (Mary Cha), with a hugh smile on her face, as shit, poop, poop, fuck, fuck! To paraphrase her ever so slightly.

Well in the words of Laura in High Fidelity "The professional critic is putting something new into the world." (might be wrong I didn't look it up). So to put in not so many words I created this blog so I can just put up short stories, essays and what not as they come into my brain.

So jump into my head, hear my thoughts and leave comments. Or don't and go fuck yourself for not caring about my feelings you selfish pricks. Thanks! First story should be coming soon hopefully within a week.