Okay, two blogs, maybe three coming tonite.
This is the one dealing with my trip to Maryland to see my kids.
I went from the day after Christmas, until New Years Day.
I was nervous to see my kids, as my family has been a bit unnerved with my daughter's problems with the law (her mom found some pot in her room and had her arrested). I was anticipating a rough time. My x wife has told me about her being disrespectful and ignorant to her, so I was prepared for the worst.
I made the great decision to go see WE ARE MARSHALL the day before I flew out. And of course, I had a bad flight. TONS of turbulence the entire way out from St Louis to Baltimore. I finally was able to get a little nap, and BAM, we land (and bounce) in Baltimore.
I get in the terminal and turn my phone on, and see two voice mails. Now, why would my ex wife call me, KNOWING I am on the plane, flying to where she is? Makes no sense at all, so after I have to sort out those two long winded messages, I call them and tell them which baggage claim to pick me up at. They are there and my kids are running to see me. I was so happy to see them, it had been about 8 months since I had been there to see them. Both have grown, especially my son. He's frieking huge now.
We get back to the house and the ex asks for a list of groceries I want, so she can get to the store and buy enough stuff for my visit. Of course she forgets the list, tries to go on memory and misses about 1/4 the list. But, I shouldn't expect anything else from her.
My daughter is on house arrest. Cant leave the house, cant stay out after 6 if she's given a day pass. So, right away, we know our nights are going to be spent at home and not out running around, which was nice. I wanted to spend time with them, talking and getting to know them again. I write them every week and try to call at least once a week, but unless you get that face to face time, its hard to know them, really KNOW them.
We spent a lot of time playing scrabble and joking and laughing. In between, I have a lot of conversations with my daughter. I feel somewhat like a failure for not being able to be more near her to help raise her. Her mother is doing an absolutely shitty job. But, my daughter has to take some responsibility for herself as well.
Also, she has this piece of fucking trash boyfriend. He's been arrested, been to rehab, been in through the juvenile services offices, and is basically a waste of flesh. My daughter tells me he wants to meet me. I am not sure why though, because I have already told her how I feel about her seeing him, on numerous occasions.
One day he's coming over. Now, my biggest concern with my daughter isnt the fact that she was caught having sex with the kid by his mom, but the entire drug problem. She tells me he's clean and sober and has been encouraging her to stay clean as well. So, imagine my surprise when this guy shows up with FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS for the two of them to watch. I am no genius, but I do know that the movie is basically a glorification of being fucked out of your mind on drugs. SO, I am pissed off. He plops down on the couch and starts talking to her, whispering almost, as if trying to hide something. I excuse myself and go downstairs to where my son is playing Guitar Hero. A few minutes later, Paris comes down and says a guy from the court is at the house to check the monitor transmitter, because the signal isnt working. When I go upstairs to let him in, she tells me "Tom is hiding in my room because he isnt supposed to be here". I am a bit bothered by that, but let the man in to check the monitor. As soon as he leaves, I tell her to call Tom's mom and have her pick him up, and I go back downstairs. She comes down to give me the "Mom lets him come over" argument, which is fruitless. SO, I say, clearly and slowly "I do not care what your mother does, if he isnt supposed to be here, he is leaving". So, after he is gone, she wants to confront me about it. She asks why I hate him.
I am now in the position to have to tell her all the things I am sure her mom hasnt. I tell her I dont hate him, I dont KNOW him. But since she's been with him, she's had her grades drop, got caught having sex, and busted for drugs. So, he's a bad influence, and she doesnt need to be with him. She tries to tell me that he's off drugs and that he's a good kid. SO, I ask why he isnt allowed at the house. She tells me its because he's on house arrest. So, I ask "if he's so good, why is he on house arrest, and why, if he is so good, is he breaking the law by being over here?"
Its obvious to me that her mother basically lets her do what she wants, because its easier that standing up for what's right and TEACHING her to be respectful. She and I have a frank talk about drugs and she says that her mom tells her "Dont do it in the house" and "I cant tell you not to do it because I did it". WHAT THE FUCK?
How about "I did it, and it was wrong, and its against the law and you will not do it"????
Is that really so hard to say? So hard to comprehend?
After a few hours of talking, we are on civil terms. She understands what I want for her, which is to stay out of trouble, stay off drugs, get better grades and be respectful to her mother (even though her mother is pretty useless, I have to stick up for her). When her mom gets home we have a family meeting and discuss things, and it turns into them two yelling at each other. I cant understand why my ex wife, who's nearly 40 feels the need to argue with a teenager, as if they were on the same level. No level headed thinking, no level headed discussion, nothing but BLAH BLAH BLAH.
But we got to the bottom of things a bit and everybody seemed a bit relieved after the talks.
My son, on the other hand is still the sweetest, most trusting, unjaded little person in the world. He is so nice and loving and trusting. Its a shame because his mother will ruin him when he gets to be a teen. It breaks my heart knowing how kind hearted he is, and that his mother takes advantage of that. He got some gift cards for christmas and she took two of them "so he wont lose them". But left him with the rest of them.
He's kind and happy and laughs all the time. He is coming along well in school and his ADHD is controlled well with his meds.
When he was a kid, he used to lay on my back when I would be on the couch watching TV. He'd do this until he fell asleep and I'd carry him to bed. I was laying on the couch at about 1130 at night and he comes up and asks if he can lay on me. I was thrilled. He laid on me and fell asleep, just like he used to do every day five years ago. I didnt want to move, I just wanted to lay there and feel him on my back sleeping. I miss him so much.
My week wound down, and we had to part again. The ex wife had apparently told my son he could wait with my while I checked in for my flight. BUT, she neglected to say anything to me, so when we were pulling up and she had to go either in the DEPARTING FLIGHTS or HOURLY PARKING lane, I was telling her to pull over to the DEPARTING FLIGHTS lane. Of course she starts yelling about how "YOUR SON WANTS TO GO INSIDE WITH YOU" Now, there is a humongous line OUTSIDE and you can make out a big long line INSIDE. SO, obviously its not a good idea. But she hadnt told me, hadnt said a word, hadnt asked what I thought or anything like that. But she will use it as an excuse to yell at me in front of them about how I dont care about my kids feelings and how insensitive I am.
We get out of the truck to unload my suitcase and my son is crying. I ask him what's wrong and he says that his mom promised him that he could go inside. I explain how long the line is, and that I'd be standing around for over an hour and how he'd be bored. He told me "Okay, I understand" and while I know it broke his heart to not be able to spend that last time with me, I knew he'd be bored and jumpy while waiting in line and he'd just get himself worked up more. It's all part of his ADHD.
I promised him I'd call before the plane took off, and he said that would be great. I hugged him and my daughter and said goodbye. Then spent an hour and fifteen minutes in line waiting to check in. I called when I got checked in and he was amazed how long it took and he was glad he didnt wait with me.
The thing I came away from this trip feeling is that my daughter needs more parenting and that my son is a wonderful person, despite all the upheaval in his life with my ex and I divorcing and him moving away from me.
It breaks my heart that they have to live with a mother who isnt mentally sound, who is selfish and lying and has no problem with it. It pisses me off that she isnt honest with them. It pisses me off that she drinks still, after telling me, her kids, her parents and everybody else how she'd quit. It pisses me off that she picks the biggest losers for boyfriends. It pisses me off how she puts her own wanting to go out with her friends above her kids. It pisses me off how she goes out drinking and when my daughter mentions it, she lies about it. I really have no idea how I stayed married to her for so long. I hate everything about how she acts, I hate everything about how she treats people, with no respect for them at all. I wish I had the money to bring my kids here and live with them and raise them. Its obvious they need somebody with some sort of backbone to be strong and help them grow. Its obvious they need somebody who puts the kids ahead of themselves.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
RIP John Wayne Tutor Jr
Sometimes between 7 this morning and 5 this afternoon, my cousin passed away. I am not sure of the exact details, but it is a suspected heart attack. Junior, as the family called him, had a rough life. His parent divorced when he was 10. His dad disowned him when he was 11. He moved in with my grandmother who raised him from then on.
Ma was far beyond her prime parenting years and was overly lenient with Jr. As a result, he ran the streets and got into minor trouble here and there, and started a life long battle with substance abuse.
I can remember going into the garage behind my grandmother's house and seeing him, covering his face with a washcloth soaked in gasoline, breathing deep, eyes glazed over.
We were never overly close, primarily because as a child, we never lived in my hometown. I would see Jr whenever we'd come home on vacation. At the time, I admired him, he had a cool stereo in his room with lights that lit up to the beat of the music. He had tons of records, and posters in his room, and was always laughing.
His mother stopped talking to him when he dropped out of high school. I dont think they said more than ten words to him since then. As an adult, he continued to live with my grandmother, sponging off of her, and spending his days either working on cars, getting high, or trying to find ways to rip people off.
When I returned from the first Gulf War, I went home for three weeks of leave. One night, I came home to a familiar scene. Jr's black 1978 Nova, in the back of the driveway, with the hood up. I figured that Jr was in there tinkering with his car. Seemed that was all he ever did. So, I went up to shoot the shit with him a bit. I saw something that I had not encountered in my 9 months in the gulf. There was my cousin, slumped over in the front seat, bleeding from his abdomen. In a drunken, pill fueled rage, he had attempted to kill himself. There was blood everywhere, a gun laying beside him, and he was gasping for air. I ran inside, grabbed some towels and told my grandmother to call his dad and tell him to meet me at the hospital.
I loaded him into my truck, and drove faster than it had ever gone, over hilly, curvy country roads to the local hospital, all the while holding pressure on the hold where blood was pouring out, and telling him things would be okay.
I got to the ER and pulled right up to the door. There were no wheelchairs in the front, so I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder and ran inside, yelling that I needed help. The nurses pushed a gurney over and I placed him there and as they took him to the trauma room, I was frozen, standing in the hallway alone, with blood covering one side of my shirt, from shoulder to my waist. My cousin, who I was never close to, was now the most important person I had ever touched as a trained medic.
A few days after the incident, he told me that he had tried to shoot himself through both lungs and his heart. He said he thought he could get all three in one shot. However, the bullet ricocheted off a rib, went down, through his liver, his large intestine, and out through his abdomen. He lost half his liver, 9 inches of intestine, and had to get 7 units of blood while on the OR table. Throughout his recovery, our minister would sit and read passages from the Bible about redemption and changing one's life. He swore to me he was done with drugs, done with drinking and done living a sinful life. And for a few years, he was. Until the lady who he originally had shot himself over, and later married, decided to leave him. She took the daughter they had together, and left. He was never really the same.
He returned to drinking. And, eventually, back to the pills. Valium, percocet, darvocet, and later in life, oxycodone, became his numbing agent.
When our grandmother passed away, I saw him at the funeral. He looked like hell. I knew he had suffered a heart attack a few years prior, but he still looked like hell. He cried like a baby at the casket. Crying and screaming that the only person who had ever really loved him was gone.
That was the last time I had seen Jr. He moved out into the country, and kept to himself. Eventually he became disabled and lived off a government check. He depended on his half brother for help.
He was at his half brother Jeff's house when he was found, sitting in a chair, dead.
Nobody from his family, not his mother, or father, or any other relatives have contacted the funeral home to make arrangements. He sits in the morgue, nobody showing him enough respect in death, to arrange a funeral and burial for him.
I am ashamed of my Uncle and Aunt for turning their back on him. I am ashamed of him for not caring enough about himself to get his life together. I am ashamed of myself for not following up on the promise I had made when I saved his life, that I would always keep in touch and be there if he needed me.
John, I know you are up in heaven now, listening to that Lynard Skynard album you were always playing when I was a kid, laughing, smiling and joking, the way I remember you. I wont think of the times I saw you looking homeless and destitute. I will always remember you and that crafty smile you had. That way you'd laugh and say "Oh yeah Ronnie".
Rest in Peace Junior. I may not have said it often enough, but I love you.
Ma was far beyond her prime parenting years and was overly lenient with Jr. As a result, he ran the streets and got into minor trouble here and there, and started a life long battle with substance abuse.
I can remember going into the garage behind my grandmother's house and seeing him, covering his face with a washcloth soaked in gasoline, breathing deep, eyes glazed over.
We were never overly close, primarily because as a child, we never lived in my hometown. I would see Jr whenever we'd come home on vacation. At the time, I admired him, he had a cool stereo in his room with lights that lit up to the beat of the music. He had tons of records, and posters in his room, and was always laughing.
His mother stopped talking to him when he dropped out of high school. I dont think they said more than ten words to him since then. As an adult, he continued to live with my grandmother, sponging off of her, and spending his days either working on cars, getting high, or trying to find ways to rip people off.
When I returned from the first Gulf War, I went home for three weeks of leave. One night, I came home to a familiar scene. Jr's black 1978 Nova, in the back of the driveway, with the hood up. I figured that Jr was in there tinkering with his car. Seemed that was all he ever did. So, I went up to shoot the shit with him a bit. I saw something that I had not encountered in my 9 months in the gulf. There was my cousin, slumped over in the front seat, bleeding from his abdomen. In a drunken, pill fueled rage, he had attempted to kill himself. There was blood everywhere, a gun laying beside him, and he was gasping for air. I ran inside, grabbed some towels and told my grandmother to call his dad and tell him to meet me at the hospital.
I loaded him into my truck, and drove faster than it had ever gone, over hilly, curvy country roads to the local hospital, all the while holding pressure on the hold where blood was pouring out, and telling him things would be okay.
I got to the ER and pulled right up to the door. There were no wheelchairs in the front, so I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder and ran inside, yelling that I needed help. The nurses pushed a gurney over and I placed him there and as they took him to the trauma room, I was frozen, standing in the hallway alone, with blood covering one side of my shirt, from shoulder to my waist. My cousin, who I was never close to, was now the most important person I had ever touched as a trained medic.
A few days after the incident, he told me that he had tried to shoot himself through both lungs and his heart. He said he thought he could get all three in one shot. However, the bullet ricocheted off a rib, went down, through his liver, his large intestine, and out through his abdomen. He lost half his liver, 9 inches of intestine, and had to get 7 units of blood while on the OR table. Throughout his recovery, our minister would sit and read passages from the Bible about redemption and changing one's life. He swore to me he was done with drugs, done with drinking and done living a sinful life. And for a few years, he was. Until the lady who he originally had shot himself over, and later married, decided to leave him. She took the daughter they had together, and left. He was never really the same.
He returned to drinking. And, eventually, back to the pills. Valium, percocet, darvocet, and later in life, oxycodone, became his numbing agent.
When our grandmother passed away, I saw him at the funeral. He looked like hell. I knew he had suffered a heart attack a few years prior, but he still looked like hell. He cried like a baby at the casket. Crying and screaming that the only person who had ever really loved him was gone.
That was the last time I had seen Jr. He moved out into the country, and kept to himself. Eventually he became disabled and lived off a government check. He depended on his half brother for help.
He was at his half brother Jeff's house when he was found, sitting in a chair, dead.
Nobody from his family, not his mother, or father, or any other relatives have contacted the funeral home to make arrangements. He sits in the morgue, nobody showing him enough respect in death, to arrange a funeral and burial for him.
I am ashamed of my Uncle and Aunt for turning their back on him. I am ashamed of him for not caring enough about himself to get his life together. I am ashamed of myself for not following up on the promise I had made when I saved his life, that I would always keep in touch and be there if he needed me.
John, I know you are up in heaven now, listening to that Lynard Skynard album you were always playing when I was a kid, laughing, smiling and joking, the way I remember you. I wont think of the times I saw you looking homeless and destitute. I will always remember you and that crafty smile you had. That way you'd laugh and say "Oh yeah Ronnie".
Rest in Peace Junior. I may not have said it often enough, but I love you.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
St Louis Tap Room
Today's adventure takes us to the wild, wonderful world of the "microbrewery&restaraunt"known to St Louisians as The Tap Room. (More on one of the "other" Micro/eateries later)
So, this group that I am in decides to have its new member night at the Schlafly Tap Room, for Dinner. (Menu) http://www.schlafly.com/taproom.menu.shtml
The place is decent size and is made from an old building on Locus street in downtown St Louis.
We meet up and about six of us are at the table when our server comes over. I shall call her Hilda, as in BROOM HILDA THE WITCH, since she a)never told us her name and b) was a complete witch to our party the entire night.
We sit and one of the people in my group asked what types of a certain style of beer they had (Note: I am not a beer aficionado, I just drink it) So, she is running through the list in a flat tone with no affect. At the end, I ask what type of Iced Tea they had, since I tend to have either Tea or Water when I am eating. She says is a dry, sarcastic voice, wihtout looking at me "Mango" and then immediately asks what everybody wanted to drink.
So, I order the tea, and while we are sitting, trying to decide what to eat, she comes back with drinks, and her warm charm causes her to say "Okay, now what are you guys wanting to eat?" I swear I've been treated better by policemen after getting pulled over for speeding.
I decide I would like the Pasta Premavera with grilled chicken. Others order and when she gets to one person, he asked for a cheeseburger. So, our friendly server says "what kind of cheese, American, swiss, cheddar, provelone, gouda or pepperjack?" The guy says "Hmmmmm, I think..." and before he can get out his statement, she says "CHEDDAR, You'll take cheddar" and moved along and asked the NEXT guy what he wanted.
So, the food comes and it is delicious, some of the best Pasta I have had in a while.
So, I notice after a few minutes that my Mango Tea (which was suprisingly good) is empty. Not, NEAR empty, but is now just a sad collection of Ice Cubes. It takes Hilda about another 12 minutes to drop by the table and ask if anybody needed anything. Now, I know I am sometimes a bit harsh when I dont feel I am getting the service that a SERVER should be hanging out, but I made an effort to say "Could I have some more tea?" in the nicest way I could. I didnt know a silent roll of the eyes was the new way of saying "Sure, sorry I let that run dry on you, I'll be right back with some tea". But apparently it is.
So, when the check FINALLY comes, we note a 17% automatic included gratuity on the bill. Now, I have no problem with a set amount if your table has a LARGE number of diners. However, for what ended up being nearly $20.00 everybody at our table was treated really shitty, had their drinks run out, and basically made all of us say "Damn, the food is good (except Becky who had the Pate') but the service SUCKS".
So, after dinner we went to the "other side" of the place to throw some darts. I didnt know how BAD a dart thrower I was until the two girls who had never (or so they claimed) thrown darts before were kicking my ass. Totally embarrassing. We had a good time and the night went without a hitch once we got away from Hilda.
So, in retrospect, the place is nice, the food was above average, but our service was pathetic and totally NOT worth the tip she received against our will.
So, this group that I am in decides to have its new member night at the Schlafly Tap Room, for Dinner. (Menu) http://www.schlafly.com/taproom.menu.shtml
The place is decent size and is made from an old building on Locus street in downtown St Louis.
We meet up and about six of us are at the table when our server comes over. I shall call her Hilda, as in BROOM HILDA THE WITCH, since she a)never told us her name and b) was a complete witch to our party the entire night.
We sit and one of the people in my group asked what types of a certain style of beer they had (Note: I am not a beer aficionado, I just drink it) So, she is running through the list in a flat tone with no affect. At the end, I ask what type of Iced Tea they had, since I tend to have either Tea or Water when I am eating. She says is a dry, sarcastic voice, wihtout looking at me "Mango" and then immediately asks what everybody wanted to drink.
So, I order the tea, and while we are sitting, trying to decide what to eat, she comes back with drinks, and her warm charm causes her to say "Okay, now what are you guys wanting to eat?" I swear I've been treated better by policemen after getting pulled over for speeding.
I decide I would like the Pasta Premavera with grilled chicken. Others order and when she gets to one person, he asked for a cheeseburger. So, our friendly server says "what kind of cheese, American, swiss, cheddar, provelone, gouda or pepperjack?" The guy says "Hmmmmm, I think..." and before he can get out his statement, she says "CHEDDAR, You'll take cheddar" and moved along and asked the NEXT guy what he wanted.
So, the food comes and it is delicious, some of the best Pasta I have had in a while.
So, I notice after a few minutes that my Mango Tea (which was suprisingly good) is empty. Not, NEAR empty, but is now just a sad collection of Ice Cubes. It takes Hilda about another 12 minutes to drop by the table and ask if anybody needed anything. Now, I know I am sometimes a bit harsh when I dont feel I am getting the service that a SERVER should be hanging out, but I made an effort to say "Could I have some more tea?" in the nicest way I could. I didnt know a silent roll of the eyes was the new way of saying "Sure, sorry I let that run dry on you, I'll be right back with some tea". But apparently it is.
So, when the check FINALLY comes, we note a 17% automatic included gratuity on the bill. Now, I have no problem with a set amount if your table has a LARGE number of diners. However, for what ended up being nearly $20.00 everybody at our table was treated really shitty, had their drinks run out, and basically made all of us say "Damn, the food is good (except Becky who had the Pate') but the service SUCKS".
So, after dinner we went to the "other side" of the place to throw some darts. I didnt know how BAD a dart thrower I was until the two girls who had never (or so they claimed) thrown darts before were kicking my ass. Totally embarrassing. We had a good time and the night went without a hitch once we got away from Hilda.
So, in retrospect, the place is nice, the food was above average, but our service was pathetic and totally NOT worth the tip she received against our will.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
The Big Bang
No, not how the universe was created, but the bar, on the landing in St Louis. That's where I ended up tonite. I was supposed to meet some friends at a bar, but the directions that I got were all jacked, so I went down to the place I used to work, and decided to see what was up. http://www.thebigbangbar.com
I show up and notice right away there is an inordinate amount of bacholorette parties occupying the bar.
Now, I don't want to give the impression that I am UNHAPPY for these people who have a pending marriage, but do I really need to hear her, and ALL her friends shriek all night about how "SHE'S GETTING MAAAAAARRRRIIIIIIEEEEEED!" for four or five fucking hours? Okay lady, you convinced somebody that YOUR vagina is the best he will EVER have, why do I have to cheer for you?
ANYHOW, the crowd was in good spirits, which is always a good thing. It lends to the show. Oh, if you havent been, or heard, the Big Bang is a bar that has "rock n roll dueling pianos", which SOUNDS a tad bit gay, but is actually a damn fine entertainment concept. Two guys playing pianos, playing requests and telling jokes, and singing to Bachelorettes, birthday boys and girls, and people on their anniversary, etc. Its a good time.
While walking from the bar with my Red Bull on the rocks, I get ambushed by a big hug from a little girl, who happens to be a girl I formerly worked with at Missouri Baptist Medical Center. She was there celebrating her birthday. It is always nice to see people you LIKE from places you DIDN'T like, and see them having fun and a good time. Luckily my bartender friend Brad (thanks for the free Red Bull Brad! ) hooked me up with some tastey drink for my friend Erin. She seemed very impressed with whatever it was, and was passing it around her table making her friends taste it.
ANYHOW, back on track, I go to the bathroom to, well, to use it, and I see a SMALL pair of boots under the stall door. A few seconds later, I notice they arent in the proper "peeing" position, and I peek down a bit and see that, yes indeed, somebody is receiving oral in the bathroom stall. Good times, good memories for two lucky people!
The band played all the usual songs, and I had a good time. Left early, since it IS a bit of a drive for me.
But, if you are ever downtown, I highly recommend it! 809N Second St, St Louis MO!
I show up and notice right away there is an inordinate amount of bacholorette parties occupying the bar.
Now, I don't want to give the impression that I am UNHAPPY for these people who have a pending marriage, but do I really need to hear her, and ALL her friends shriek all night about how "SHE'S GETTING MAAAAAARRRRIIIIIIEEEEEED!" for four or five fucking hours? Okay lady, you convinced somebody that YOUR vagina is the best he will EVER have, why do I have to cheer for you?
ANYHOW, the crowd was in good spirits, which is always a good thing. It lends to the show. Oh, if you havent been, or heard, the Big Bang is a bar that has "rock n roll dueling pianos", which SOUNDS a tad bit gay, but is actually a damn fine entertainment concept. Two guys playing pianos, playing requests and telling jokes, and singing to Bachelorettes, birthday boys and girls, and people on their anniversary, etc. Its a good time.
While walking from the bar with my Red Bull on the rocks, I get ambushed by a big hug from a little girl, who happens to be a girl I formerly worked with at Missouri Baptist Medical Center. She was there celebrating her birthday. It is always nice to see people you LIKE from places you DIDN'T like, and see them having fun and a good time. Luckily my bartender friend Brad (thanks for the free Red Bull Brad! ) hooked me up with some tastey drink for my friend Erin. She seemed very impressed with whatever it was, and was passing it around her table making her friends taste it.
ANYHOW, back on track, I go to the bathroom to, well, to use it, and I see a SMALL pair of boots under the stall door. A few seconds later, I notice they arent in the proper "peeing" position, and I peek down a bit and see that, yes indeed, somebody is receiving oral in the bathroom stall. Good times, good memories for two lucky people!
The band played all the usual songs, and I had a good time. Left early, since it IS a bit of a drive for me.
But, if you are ever downtown, I highly recommend it! 809N Second St, St Louis MO!
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Thank you Mr Mellencamp
Oh yeah life goes on
Long after the thrill of livin is gone
John Cougar Mellencamp
Well, it seems here lately that life does indeed go on. And, rest assured, I am feeling that the thrill of life has passed me by. Going out the other day reaffirmed this for me. I had neither fun, nor excitement, the way a simple trip to the corner bar used to provide. I am not sure if its a culmination of all the stress and bullshit and heartache I have been through as of late, but whatever it is, it fucking sucks.
I cant seem to shake the feeling that, "what if I've already had the GOOD part of my life". Is that possible? I mean, at 35 soon to be 36, is it possible that the best years of my life are behind me?
I mean, if they are, I cant really complain too much. I've been around the world three times. I've met some of the most fascinating people on the planet. Sat inside the Roman Colluseum, had lunch on the steps at the Vatican, swam in the middle of the Meddeterenean Sea, Snorkled off a corla reef in San Jaun, Sand Surfed in Kuwaiit, sw the monkeys at the Rock of Gibralter, been to a real live gold souk, slept in the same hotel that Princess Di did, and so much more.
So why then does it seem as if its not enough? Am I being selfish? Childish?
Is it wrong to want to meet somebody who I can fall head over heels in love with, and have them feel the same, instead of it being one sided?
I dont know, it just seems lately, the thrill isnt there anymore. The thrill of the chase isnt even there.
Maybe this is what getting old feels like.
Getting old sucks.
Long after the thrill of livin is gone
John Cougar Mellencamp
Well, it seems here lately that life does indeed go on. And, rest assured, I am feeling that the thrill of life has passed me by. Going out the other day reaffirmed this for me. I had neither fun, nor excitement, the way a simple trip to the corner bar used to provide. I am not sure if its a culmination of all the stress and bullshit and heartache I have been through as of late, but whatever it is, it fucking sucks.
I cant seem to shake the feeling that, "what if I've already had the GOOD part of my life". Is that possible? I mean, at 35 soon to be 36, is it possible that the best years of my life are behind me?
I mean, if they are, I cant really complain too much. I've been around the world three times. I've met some of the most fascinating people on the planet. Sat inside the Roman Colluseum, had lunch on the steps at the Vatican, swam in the middle of the Meddeterenean Sea, Snorkled off a corla reef in San Jaun, Sand Surfed in Kuwaiit, sw the monkeys at the Rock of Gibralter, been to a real live gold souk, slept in the same hotel that Princess Di did, and so much more.
So why then does it seem as if its not enough? Am I being selfish? Childish?
Is it wrong to want to meet somebody who I can fall head over heels in love with, and have them feel the same, instead of it being one sided?
I dont know, it just seems lately, the thrill isnt there anymore. The thrill of the chase isnt even there.
Maybe this is what getting old feels like.
Getting old sucks.
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