Monthly Archives: January 2007

The Cow goes Moo.

Due to personal circumstances beyond my control I have been slacking awfully.  However, I have cheerfully let go of these burdensome thoughts and concerns and furthermore, have decided to let all go on their merry way in peace.  Peace, pieces, hey, same thing, right?

Anyway, it is because of these aforementioned circumstances that I wavered on writing the third part of the Danielle saga.  But, being the prolific prognosticator that I am, I have decided that any further hesitation on my part would serve no purpose, except to deny my adoring public (read: my girlfriend, my sister, several friends, my ex-wifes nosy meddlesome friend(s), and a handful of confused individuals searching for vaginal cream that were provided a link to my song parody blog) entertaining and uncomfortable details about my history and personal life.

I firmly believe that people who insist on keeping details of their lives private, merely for the sake of privacy are insane and paranoid individuals who should not be trusted.  So therefore, I try to be as open as possible, with things that may or may not have any real impact on anything.  For example, my entire life.  So, except for a very few small details, my life is an open book, which in time, I am hoping most of you will read.

I am certainly a quirky human being to say the least.

*And frankly, I could care less what anyone really thinks.

So, work on the third part of the saga will begin tonight, which being the last part, will be composed of three separate entries, covering what I believe were three distinct eras in our relationship.  Sticking to a Star Wars theme, it will tentatively be titled,

**Danielle, Revenge of the —–!

Like everything else in my life, whether it is serious or not, I’m going to have some fun with this. 

Stay Tuned.

Live it, Love it (but don’t truss it) 


*There are a few of you that do matter, opinion-wise, but that number gets smaller and smaller every day.

**Before you Star Wars nerds out there start correcting me, remember that the original title of the third film was ‘Revenge of the Jedi’, it was changed by lucas post production.

Danielle, the empire strikes back!


Now, before I begin, I would like to preface this entry with a little known fact. 

I have made more than my share of blunders in dating and romance.  There are people and situations I regret mightily, for many reasons.  But, there are none that I regret and kick myself for as much as this one, even to this day.  I still get testy about this one.  So, sit back, relax, grab a beer, better yet, grab a shot, or maybe two.  When this is over, I know I will.  Yes, this was just over a decade ago, yes, it was high school, and finally, yes, it still feels like it happened yesterday.  So, without further a-do,

Danielle Saga Part 2. 

(When theres trouble, you call D.W.)

This tale of woe begins in my junior year of John F. Kennedy High.  I had just finished my wrestling season, and I was rediscovering all sorts of things I had denied myself for the sake of sport.  Things like food, water, and looking at girls.  I remember looking at one girl in particular that season, she was on the basketball team.  She was a short little thing, but she matched the ferocity of her lesbian opponents, and it impressed me, even through my haze of starvation and deprivation.  I remember one instance, sitting in the bleachers with some teammates, watching them play.  The resident bad-ass at our school was a boy by the name of mike morrison.  He turned to me and said, “hey, look at number 10, shes a cute chick”.  I remember being surprised for two reasons, one, I couldn’t believe I had never noticed her, and two, I was instantly jealous of him for saying that.  I made a mental note, but the season was still in full swing, so I left it alone.

Finally, the months passed, and the most important part of the year faded into a dull time between the start of spring, and the end of the school year.  It was then that I ran into Danielle two once again.  At the time, I had just quit being a band student, which all of the sudden left me with seventh period free.  Sometimes, I would go into the class of one Mr. Pagivalas (that spelling may be incorrect, but it matters little).  He was an art teacher who had great respect for my athletic ability, and also happened to be the official scorer for all of our matches.  So, instead of spending time in the library, or playing sim city for the billionth time (all I did was sic large scale disasters and monsters on unsuspecting virtual cities anyway) I spent time going into his class, and getting to know Danielle two a bit better.  To say that I was nervous is like calling D-day a small skirmish.  There was not a young lad in wrestling tights in the entire county that could un-nerve me the way that girl could.  She didn’t even have to try, I mostly tripped up over myself out of sheer inexperience.  She had been dating a boy from another school, but she was single again soon enough.  I did not have the nerve to tell her I had not had a girlfriend before, and come to think of it, I don’t think anyone knew that, it was way too embarrassing.  I knew I needed an “in”, and I thought, at the time, I was very lucky to have a “friend”, that knew her as well, and acted as a sort of go-between.

This friend, Matt, knew us both, and I frequently relied on him for advice on matters concerning her.  Dear reader, close your eyes for a moment, (after you read this of course!) and picture millhouse from the simpsons, sans glasses.  Yes, he was definitely millhouse.  Nevertheless, through his efforts, and my own fascade in place, I finally convinced her to “go steady”.  I cannot convey through words alone how happy I was at this development, but I had a lot to learn.  See, some of you may know the term “goyme”, and some of you may not.  For those of you unfamiliar, I will clarify,

Goyme, means a non-jew.  A gentile, if you will.

I, my friends, am a goyme.  And a latin goyme at that.  Double Whammy.

So, to my dismay, I soon learned that as far as her parents were concerned, I was the “spanish tutor”.  Regardless, I was still happy as hell to be with her, and thought nothing of my “friends” burgeoning friendship with her.  I remember one instance, on her birthday, I walked into her classroom right as it started, left a rose and a balloon on her desk, kissed her, and told her happy birthday.  Even now, thinking back on it, I have to admit, that kicked some ass.  Mostly, we would hang out after school, and fool around, which was fine, but I always felt bad, because she would purposefully miss the bus to stay with me, so, we started walking home together.  Mind you, she lived in merrick.  No, not right over the bellmore border merrick, this was almost freeport merrick.  So, it was a hell of a walk.  But she did it, and so did I.  One instance that stands out was the time I wanted to play basketball after school.  She said she would come and watch, and then walk home.  By herself.  So, basically, she missed her bus, watched me play basketball for a few hours, and walked home.  Now thats dedication.  But it was not long before things began to go wrong.

While our “friend” whispered in my ear, he whispered in her ear.  In my ear he would say things like, “It’ll never work because of the religion thing, it will make things hard on her, you would be doing her a favor, besides, summer is coming, all guys break up with their girlfriends before then.” 

O-K,  I can hear the screams already, HOW COULD YOU LISTEN TO THAT BUNK! STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!  And you would be one-hundred and thirty-five percent correct.  But please, remember, this was my very FIRST girlfriend, EVER.  Maybe, if I would have dated Danielle one before this, I could have kept my own counsel, as it was, I did not, and listened eagerly.  As I know she did as well.  He apparently would tell her things that appeared to be intimate secrets between us, but as I discovered later, were nothing more than things another boy had made up because he liked her and she rejected him.  He basically took those insults from that other boy, and made them my words.  I remember, it was some boy in her grade, by the name of Lou.  At any rate, since I knew nothing of this sabotage, I could not refute anything.  And by the time I discovered this treachery, millhouse was well on his way to a prom night slowdance.

To make matters worse, I finally decided I had to cut her loose.  For her own sake.  What a hero I was, what a martyr.

What a fucking moron.

It was one of the more heartbreaking conversations I have ever had.  Why?  Because I was breaking my own heart too, but thinking I was ultimately doing the right thing.  When I was really just a sucker.

So, in the end.  I had no girlfriend, and the next year, my good “friend”, ended up escorting the girl I loved to our prom, and I got stuck with some weird ass shaking chick from massapequa.  Prom night was fucking miserable.  Not just because my date ended up being the MC, (she was hired by the company, I found this out later when I ran into her at another party, working for them) but mainly because I had to watch her and sneaky millhouse slowdance the entire evening.  I had some problems properly displaying emotion at the time, but I think I can safely say now that I was pissed.  Fucking fuming.  And I held it all in.

Basically, I made a stupid decision, based on horrible, sneaky advice, that I was nieve enough to believe.

Ok, so here it is.  Danielle Weinstein, out of all the girls I dated in my life, the only one I consistently kick myself over thinking back on is you.  I am so sorry I listened to stupid Matt “millhouse”, and that I thought breaking up with you would be a good thing.  Once again, had I the ability to fly around the earth at superman like speeds, I would return myself to that time and throttle myself, and then promptly throw a stick of dynamite into Matts mouth like a bugs bunny cartoon.

Well dear reader, you may think this is not important, that none of this matters.  But, it matters to me.  And even though I’m sure shes long past any hard feelings, or any feelings on the matter at all, somewhere in there, if she sees this anyway, is getting some satisfaction in finally figuring this out.  I never did talk about this. 

After high school, I ran into her one more time.  It was at a No Doubt concert at Jones Beach.  I was going to the bathroom, and suddenly I heard someone call my name.  She was standing there, staring at me.  I stared back in shock, and everything came rushing back.  We chatted for a short while, and I returned to my seat, next to Danielle three.  She stayed on my mind for weeks after, but I was engaged, and that was that.

Fast forward to last week.  I send a message.  No response.  And yes, it made me sad, very sad.

Guys out there.  Word of advice.  If the girl you like, or the girl you are dating, has a best guy friend, treat him as your enemy.  Because, that is exactly what he is.  No matter how nice he might seem, he is just waiting, for you to fuck up.

 Ok, picture caption time!

(top row, left to right)

Pic 1+2 – This is a pic of the yearbook, I circled us in red, I am pinning someone on the top part, and she is doing her best patrick ewing impersonation on the bottom, coincedence?  The pic next to it is my wrestling pic from that year.


Pic 3 – This is the yearbook page, if you look close enough, you can see where she commented on my stupid yearbook quote.

(bottom row, left to right) 

Pic 4 – This is me, looking like a poofy headed mongoloid.

Pic 5 – And there she is.

Listen to your hearts people, not simpsons characters.

Live it, Love it,


Danielle part one.


I can clearly remember my first day of school.  I was six years old, having skipped the training period of pre-school, and gone straight to kindergarten.  I was dressed in my little blue and white shirt, and little white striped blue shorts, and I carried a small green canvas backpack.  I was scared senseless, but even then, I was happier leaving where ever it was my parents were at, in favor of being elsewhere, anywhere.  My memory is foggy until the point where I walked into the classroom for the first time.

Little balloons were tied behind each small wooden chair, and each one had a childs name drawn in black marker on it.  I looked around, trying to find my name, and there it was, barely fitting on the small balloon.  Juan Manuel.  I clearly remember the other children staring at it, wondering why I had a name so big, and so unlike theirs.  Even then, I felt awkward and useless.  Not long after that, I became John.  Bear in mind, it was not of my own volition.

 What was the point of all of that Tobas?  Isn’t this story about Danielle number one?

Yes dear reader, it certainly is, but the reasons I behaved the way I did are squarely rooted in the discomfort I felt from the very first day I set foot in a classroom.

Now, let us fast forward a few years to the fourth grade, where the story begins.

Mrs. Trencher.  The white haired old bat had my brother, and my sister before I set foot in her domain, so I was judged before I had a chance to even make a fool of myself by calling her mom, in spanish no less.  I did not share a class with Danielle number one, but I, like everyone else in the grade, knew she had a boyfriend, a young man by the name of Greg.  Like most relationships at ten years old, it lasted very little time, but seemed like forever.  Then came the day a friend told me they had broken up, and added the tittilating fact that I was the clear reason for it.

My quasi-mongoloidian ten year old brain could not wrap itself around this notion, and I asked why.  It was then that he spoke three words that managed to thrill and frighten me more than anything else in school had up until that point, “She likes you”.  Greg was a friend of mine, I remember feeling terrible, I certainly did not want there to be a problem, and besides, I didn’t make her like me, that was her fault.  But as it turns out, Greg had no hard feelings, and even egged me on to ask her out.  Which of course, feeling mortified and extremely insecure, I did not.  Not to mention, I had a crush of my own, the very pretty, and much taller than me, Jean Torti.  Reader, please note the fact that not only was Danielle number one very pretty, in retrospect, I realize I had my head up my ass in the taste department as well, as she was definitely prettier than the heartless Torti girl.  From that point on, in the fourth grade, the rest of my elementary school career became the ballad of her unrequited love, and the ballad of my unrequited love for Jean Torti. 

I really got the hint on valentines day that year.  Although clearly, I did not get that hint as well as I should have. 

I related both the heartbreaks, mine and hers in an earlier myspace blog, but I will re-tell hers, since it is relevent to how this all turns out.

We sat in gym class one day, indian style, talking about different things when the topic of a dance came up.  Danielle one was mentioned in reference to Greg  (we are now in the sixth grade mind you).  One of the other kids remarks that the gym teacher shouldn’t say that, since I will get jealous.  Of course, he turns to me, and asks why.  I mumble that I have no idea.  So, then he commits the ultimate form of child sacrifice, he asks the dreaded crush, or be crushed question,  “So, do you like her?”  Every single student freezes and turns around, the entire gym is bathed in silence, and the only sound is my urinary valve slowly losing control.  Slowly I mumble again, “Uh, no, no”.

Her face shattered like sugar glass at a stuntman convention.  I knew right then and there I had completely and utterly humiliated her, and the worst part was, it wasn’t true at all, I did like her.  I was just embarrassed and scared.

(Side Note:  At this point, Danielle number three had transferred into our elementary school, so whether or not she remembers, she was privy to this, I cannot help but wonder if I had gathered the courage to date Danielle one then, I could have avoided the pitfall of dating Danielle three in the future, so, until I figure out how to get back and smack my little egg head back to sense, it is all just pure speculation)

It was all downhill from that point on, it was as if the gods of pre-pubescent shenanigans abandoned me as a lost cause.  No other girl liked me for many, many years.  As a matter of fact, the next time I would even come close to touching anything on a female was well into highschool.  Danielle one began dating a bully boy, by the name of Bobby Guido.  No, that is not a fake name, it was really Bobby Guido.  He disliked me very much, this was due largely to the fact that he liked Danielle one, and Danielle one was known as the girl who liked me.  He pushed me one day, and I fell back, humiliated.  I wish i could say I got up and punched him, or even pushed him back, but none of that is true.  I just took it, and continued to feel insecure.  Later on in life, I would learn that she only dated him so he would leave me alone, she would call herself his girlfriend, but not see him or kiss him.  It did not help. 

What did help however, was my older sister learning of this bullying, and walking down to the schoolyard to pick me up one day.  She asked me who this Bobby boy was, I pointed to the spiky haired, earring sporting miscreant.  She promptly threw him against a fence and threatened his life and manhood.  Yes, I let my sister beat up a bully for me.  Hey, at that point she was much bigger and stronger than me, and it worked.

Danielle one ultimately ended up going to the same middle school I attended, and then went north to the rival high school, along with Danielle three.  I saw little of her after that, and as it stands now, I have not seen her in well over a decade.  Would I like to see her?  Of course I would, I never properly thanked her for trying to save me from the Christmas story reject.  (For those of you familiar with “A Christmas Story”, this kid was the dark haired, spitting image of the bully boy Ralphie eventually pounds the shit out of).

That was the first girl who ever “liked” me.  And, I liked her back too, when I wasn’t too busy barking up the wrong tree.  What did I do?  I crushed her mercilessly.  And she stopped dating the silly boy who really liked her in the first place, all to take a shot with me, insult to injury.

It changed everything.

So, where ever you are, sorry Danielle Shy, I really did like you, I was just a big stupid coward, and if I could, I would go back and tell the truth, not just for you, but for me as well.

One down, two to go!

(pic descriptions below, enjoy!)

Pic 1 – This is the most crucial part of the valentine, notice the arrows and commentary.

Pic 2 – The back of the card, help teddy bear find a heart!  How ironic, I never did that maze maybe I should have.

Pic 3 – This is the front of it, it had two nifty front flaps.

Pic 4 – On the left, we have Danielle one, looking spunky and cute, On the right, we have Danielle three, looking cute, but ominous.  Yes, my first crush, and first wife not only went to the same schools, they were next to each other in the yearbook.  Oh life, how you like to slap me in the face with your large and ironic member!

Live it, Love it, (and try not to kick yourself too hard)



After much debate, I have decided that the events of last night have left me less than capable of beginning the saga of the Danielles tonight, so instead, I will myspace blog the events of last night.  I am shooting for Tuesday to start the Danielle saga, bear in mind dear reader, I am also doing some research, and preparing photos as well.

Tonight, for example, I took photographs of a 17-year old valentines day card.  It was amazing it stayed in such good shape after all of these years.  Why did I keep that?  Why did I preserve it?

Also bear in mind, this is the only piece of pre-wife girl memorabilia in existence.  So, this thing must be pretty important.

On another totally unrelated topic.  I have decided I fucking hate my haircut utterly and completely.  Oh well, short locks, here we come.


Live it, Love it,






(here is a short preview, there will be many more like this as the saga rolls on)

stay tuned.

Back to School.

How was Rocky Balboa as a movie?

Well, honestly, it was average.  I enjoyed the nostalgia aspect and all, but as a stand alone film, it’s not much to talk about.  Somehow, Rocky got smarter since V, where he could barely spit out a sentence, and made as much sense as the ICF patients in my work facility, and, his son grew up, and was still a little ungrateful prick.  Antonio Tarver had all the charm and charisma of a post-stroke Mr. T, and quite frankly, some of the flashbacks, especially during the final fight were creepy and disorienting.  (Think Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the old one of course, where they were in the boat and Gene Wilder starts singing that creepy song while horrifying images are flashing by). 

But thats neither here nor there.  Because all it took was one scene to turn all of that around.

When Rocky finally agrees to do the main fight, his life once again becomes a media storm.  So of course, his son being the ingrate that he is, confronts him about his decision, complaining that he has been living in his shadow for too long, and for him to do this fight would place him back further in, leaving him with no identity of his own.  I know, boo fucking hoo.

Anyway, as they are standing outside, Rocky puts him in his place.  Life is hard, he tells him, nothing will ever hit you and punish you as hard as life can.  He then goes on to say how when you get battered and beaten so bad, sometimes you need to point fingers, to make yourself feel better, or less responsible.  He finishes with, what makes someone a winner, is not so much what they do, it is being able to take the hardest shot life can give you, and getting up.

Getting up makes you a winner.  Not to mention, his tone and delivery were on point.  It was one of those strange moments, where I reached up and found that there were tears slowly beginning to overflow out of my lids.  It was funny to think I was such a wreck from life that a Rocky line could evoke such emotion from me.  But it was just the timing of the thing, and the realization that my fight is far, far, from being over.  In fact, it has barely begun.  This last part hit home today especially.

After that, there was a moment, right at the end, when the champion belts Rocky with his hardest shot.  He goes down, but holds himself up with his glove, talking internally.  He has a short talk with himself, and ends it with, alright now, get up.  Those last words burned themselves into my brain.

I kept telling myself that over and over today.  Walking through the old westbury campus, trying my hardest not to throw up on shrubbery.

I was fine all day.  A little tired, but thats all.  And then, Danielle decided to call and ask about the boys passports.  Predictably, the conversation degenerated from there.  (For any newcomers, she is my ex-wife, and mother of my boys).  Of course, I asked why those were needed, and where they were going, and then I got upset when I did not get a straight answer.  And no, I don’t know is not a straight answer.  So, from there, things went from bad to worse, at one point, I had to swallow back a large unexpected load of bile after hearing that buying nice pretty baubles equates to caring about somebody.

Of course, my retort was, well, if thats all it took, I would have stayed in school, told you to take care of the real important stuff, like getting around and the babies, and then made it all better for you by keeping you draped in nice shiny things.

Strangely enough, that was not received very well on the other end.  I choked back insults as best I could, and then took some heat for my song parody.  (which you can read a couple of entries below, cleverly entitled, to the right…)  Which, as I stated in my other blog, had nothing to do with her.

I do not know if she actually reads this, or if it relayed second-hand, either way, I wish to make myself perfectly clear.

When I want to talk about/write about you, this is what it looks like, ok?

But I cannot say that is the only reason I almost had a nervous breakdown.  It’s simple really, I was scared shitless.  Well, no, I am scared shitless.

See, I am taking out loans.  This is new to me, as I have always played the poor minority card and gotten my cheap suny education paid for by financial aid.  (thank you liberal douches for making my college education cost effective).  Basically, if I am overwhelmed by work, or unable to do well, or unable to complete again, and bear in mind, there would only be one reason for this to happen, as I am generally an excellent student, and thrive in an academic environment (for reason, see above), I would be forced to start paying those loans back fairly quickly, and, not to mention, not have a degree to show for it. 

So yes, I am scared out of my wits.  The only thing I really have going for me, aside from my rusty academic talents, is the fact that I will have a virtual sea of support here, compared to the last time, when I was not only fighting to get good grades, I was fighting to live my life, and unfortunately, pretty much everyone elses too.  At the very least, some people will be happy to see me trying to get ahead this time around.

All of this residual anger, and nerves, and fear came to a disgusting and unexpected head as I sat in an office, getting advisement.

I began to think, and gag again, angrily trying to shoo bitter words and terrible fears from my thoughts.  All the while doing my best to pay attention to the nice lady telling me all about Research Methods I.  This resulted in more gagging by me, which in turn prompted her to ask me, “Are you ok?”  Now, you could be ready to hurl, and swallow it back a hundred times, but all it takes is one outside acknowledgement, and thats it, game over.  Say hello to my little friend.

A small torrent of spit and greenish bile spurt forth, and I coughed from the effort of furiously trying to hold it back.  Meanwhile, my advisor narrowly missed getting her pants soiled by jumping back quickly.  She yelped and began to suggest medical attention, asking me repeatedly if I was ok.  Obviously, no.  But I recovered quickly, and waved off her attempts to convince me that I needed to be seen by a doctor.  I told her the truth about my day, and chalked it all up to a severe case of anger containment, and rattled nerves.  I cleaned up the rather small puddle, took my newly printed sheet and left for the financial aid office after apologizing profusely.  Inwardly, I applauded her reflexes and hoped I could hold it together for a little longer.

The financial aid office turned out to be a short visit.  The process was explained, the papers were given to me, and I left feeling slightly more knowledgeable, and a bit more frightened.  In short, I have a week to come up with several thousand dollars in tuition, from loans, blood donations, etc… or my newest attempt at a college degree will be a short one.

Bear in my dear reader.  I had my pick of universitys coming out of high school, many of them on either academic scholarships, or athletic scholarships.  Granted, almost all were athletic, but nevertheless, Seton Hall and Penn State have standards that certainly transcend an above average wrestler at best.  Yes, of course I hear the question on all of your minds, well Tobas, why wouldn’t have attended those universitys, or any of the countless SUNY schools you were accepted to?  (basically, every single one I applied for, I settled on Albany, but I’m about to get to that part).

Simple, I did pick a school.  I chose Albany, and was enrolled, and was even given my room-mate list, which happened to include one of my close high school buddies Josh.  Sadly, when the time came to get the loan, my parents waffled on signing and all my years of hard work in high school came to a crushing, motivation destroying end.  Needless to say, I was extremely bitter about this, yet I chose to go to NCC anyway, opting to use the little savings I had to purchase my fathers old nissan pick-up.  At the same time, I was also set to begin my first day on the job at Levitz Furniture, where my sister worked at the time, so, college, and new job, same day.  Wasn’t what I hoped for, not even close, but I was determined to make the best of it.

So, I go to school, work my first day, and there I am, driving home on hempstead turnpike.  I stop at a red light, wait patiently, see green, then hit the gas.  And here is where inexperience rears its ugly little head.  Everyone always sees some asshole trying to beat the light, and most have you have probably been that asshole at some point, I know I have.  I knew nothing of that danger and plowed ahead, not noticing that the other cars hadn’t moved yet.  Unfortunately, since I was in the middle lane, and the line was staggered, I could not see what the others could.

What I could not see, was a legally deaf girl (I’m not making this up people), blowing through the yellow at eighty miles an hour.  The impact was horrific.  Driver side, and then only thing I can remember is feeling as if a giant metal hand had punched my entire left side.  After that, there was a short moment of looking up, hearing liquid spilling, and the drivers side window breaking loose and shattering on my bloody head.  Words came to me, but they sounded far away, things like, “get him out now!  the gas is leaking!”  and then, “look at his chest, he needs an x-ray a full catscan now.”  (Afterwards, I discovered they were referring to my mutation, and I laughed thinking how that must have looked to an ER doctor).

Somehow, I survived, and with relatively minor injuries.  Some swelling in the brain, twisted vertebrae, but nothing to keep me in for more than a few days.  The doctor attributed this to my being young and in very good shape.  I, of course, interpreted this as a cruel jest of the Hebrew God, and immediately became completely and utterly disillusioned with everything and everyone.  All that work, all those years, and for what?  Community college and a near fatal wreck?  As I thought at the time, and even now sometimes, I could have been sitting right pretty in Albany with a few sorority girls, and the only wreck would have been my hangover in the morning.

I eventually returned to NCC.  But it was only because my good friend needed a classmate who could help him in class, and I would have a free ride to and from school, provided I signed up for all the same courses as him, which I did.  Little did I know we would spend so much time baiting hooks as opposed to reading books, but thats another story.  I managed respectable grades, but by doing only the bare minimum required of me.  I was there, but only to be doing something, at the time, I could care less about anything.

Coincedentally, it was not long after that I started dating Danielle.

In retrospect, I would say things went from bad, to worse.  And that really is saying a lot, factoring in the car crash and all.  Does that sound mean?  Maybe.  But the truth is, I would have traded ten car wrecks for one life wreck.

It was only after getting married, and having sebastian, that I began to realize I would not be given a chance to return to school unless I really pushed the issue.  I was called selfish, irresponsible, and pompous.  Regardless, I still worked full time, went to school full time, and when my mother couldn’t take sebastian to work with her to watch him, even took that incredibly well behaved little boy into class with me, and begged professors to let me stay and learn.  Which luckily, they did (One was reluctant, but then she saw sebastian about to cry and she relented).  I finished my associates in three semesters, taking 12 and 16 credits at a time, and managed to finish my last semester with a perfect 4.0, earning a 3.4 gpa overall.

After being beaten down by life again, I abandoned my college career shortly into my life at old westbury, and returned to being what I was, a stupid fool.


So, as I lay here now typing, and listening to the latest blow up involving the other members of my family, do you think I feel a little bitter?  Do you think I might want to point a finger or ten?  Oh yes, I certainly do.

But it’s not what you do, it’s whether you can take that massive haymaker and hold yourself up, because sometimes all you have is that rubbery arm propping up your beaten body, and you have to talk to yourself for a little while, and convince yourself that this time, you are going to do it, and you are going to get it right.


So, I am sure this tale will have mixed reactions from my readers, some good, some bad, but in the spirit of spitting in the face of your jailer, I will say this much,

Chances are, if you read this, and you don’t like what you saw, you can go and fuck yourself with a spiky, rusty, metal, staph infested dildo, because I fucking hate you.

Interpret that however you like dear reader.


Thank you all for taking the time to read this shit.  Even if, you happen to be someone I want fucked with a rusty, metal, spiky, staph infected dildo.

“Hey, everybody, we’re all gonna get laid!”

-Rodney Dangerfield (Back to School)


Live it, Love it.




Looking at certain pictures tonight, gave me perspective.  What is a picture anyway?  A moment captured, that changes meaning so quickly.

Long ago I read that the Masai tribe in Africa will seldom allow pictures to be taken of them, because they feel that it takes a part of their soul with them.  What superstitious claptrap.  Nonsense, no?

I thought this, but looking back, at my own images, I am beginning to see that there is some sense in that belief.

It can bring joy, and a laugh, but often, images of times past do nothing but create a hollow sensation inside you.  A sense that something you did may have occured, but it may as well have been a product of a hollywood studio, unreal and unlivable.  Your life takes on the aspect of a well designed prop set, and it becomes harder and harder to even understand who you were then, and what you were doing, and especially, what you were thinking.

I look back and see an alien.  Someone who may have been me, but it does not feel like it was me.  It is a body in those photos, that must be mine, but time makes me something else, so that looking what was captured begins to feel fabricated, and false, and then you know it was you, but you lost what that was, for better or worse.  And then you understand, a part of you, was taken.

A large part of me was taken, and I want it back.

My soul was stolen.  I was a good person, and I should have stayed that way.  I should not have allowed bitterness and resentment to make me into a hateful creature.  I know who I am and why I did what I did, and it makes me sad.  I reacted, without thinking much, and if I would have stopped to think, I would not have done so many good things, and in turn, I would not have done any bad things either.

So when I look at me, I know, my soul was stolen, in little pieces, and then as a whole, when I said I do.

I should have never given that away.  It was more precious than I ever knew.  I can only hope that I can be forgiven for squandering what is more important than anything else.  That purity that I let become rotten.

So I purge it out, and pray to be clean again.  I am someones hope, and someones dream, and I am a life that someone sees as worth living. 

And it hurts so bad to know that I made two such precious things with a human who took that in and created such amazing lives, and that my efforts were not worthwhile.

And I can only hope that I am strong enough to fight through this, and prove myself to be worthwhile.  So try, and try again, and try harder.  I can do anything, it is only my fear that holds my ambition captive.

I can be so good.

And I want to be.

To the right…

I am in no mood no fix the horrendous grammar and tense errors in the previous entry, so like a fat chick in spandex, it shall remain sloppy.

Instead, I have decided to rewrite the hit song that lifted the voice of a million scorned women, and started some controversy even here.  So, without further ado, presents,


Incurable.  (you lying whore)


To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

To the right,


Everything I own in a box to the right,

In the closet, thats your stuff – Yes,

But I bought it, you dirty slut,

Keep talking that mess you whore,

You can probably walk and fuck at the same time,

And I got sores on my bag,

Still awaiting results from the lab,


Standing in the frontyard,

Telling me how much I’m screwed,

How did I end up with a whore like you?

I must be twisted,


I didn’t know about you,

I didn’t know about you,

Gonna need another antibiotic by tomorrow,

I hope I didn’t catch nothing, thats incurable,


So now I’ll be gone,

Call up homeboy thats giving you bone,

Oops, you got all self-righteous didn’t you,

What did you think I was fucking that chick for?

Cause you were a dirty whore,

Fucking that dude in the bed that we made together,

Baby you dropped your valtrex, hurry up before you have a breakout,

Standing in the front yard,

Telling me, just how much I’m screwed,

How did I end up with a whore like you?

I must be twisted,


I didn’t know about you,

I didn’t know about you,

I could have another you in a minute,

But then I’d have to pay by the hour,


I didn’t know about you,

I didn’t know about you,

Gonna need another antibiotic by tomorrow,

I hope I didn’t catch nothing, thats incurable,


So since you’re fucking everything,

How about one for the road?

Baby I wont shed no tears for you,

When you’re ripped in two,

Cause the truth of the matter is,

My prayers were heard,

You got what you deserved,


To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

To the right,

Everything I own in a box to the right,


To the right,

To the right,

I hope I didn’t catch nothing, thats incurable,


I didn’t know about you,

I didn’t know about you,

I could have another you in a minute,

But then I’d have to pay by the hour,


I didn’t know about you,

I didn’t know about you,

Gonna need another antibiotic by tomorrow,

I hope I didn’t catch nothing, thats incurable,


It is not uncommon that I go and take a trip to metasin, not at all. 

However, it is uncommon that I take a trip to metasin and stay sober so that I can actually witness and record said experience.  This night in particular was a doozy.  Trance, techno, horrible trip hop, and finally a live PA by the ever banging Brian Dunn.

Ok, so lets begin.


I arrive alone, having dropped off my wonderful Mia shortly before.  Of course, although I am driving the douchebag porsche, I am dressed as un-douchey as possible, with my cap low, and my hair splayed out, emo-style. Old t-shirt and jeans as usual.  I enter and I am greeted by the familar face of Juliya, the friday night bartender, and resident soviet.  She smiles, and places a wristband on me.  Right away I hear pounding techno, and I immediately regret the fact that I did not find a way to get there without having to drive.  Nevertheless, I resolve to take three quick drinks, and stay for three hours at least. 

I round the bar and see Jen, the blonde bartender, and she recognizes me from there, and from work, as we both happen to work for the same company.  She buys me a beer and I throw down a ten and ask for a shot of jager.  Ok, thats two right there.  I turn around and Vinny is there with his friend Justin, who seems convinced that I will one day burst forth from the shell of straightness that I occupy.  I tell him, even if I was in the closet, there would only be one human being who could do it for me anyway, and that human happens to have a pussy, and a delicious one at that, so, cock could never be an option.  He was gracious, but clearly disappointed, or at least it seemed that way. 

Minutes later I am on the dance floor, not as buzzed as I would like to be, but buzzed enough to bounce around like a liquid crack baby bunny.  I do this for an indeterminate amount of time before I realize my muscles are burning, and I am slightly out of breath.  I take a breather and watch the crowd gyrate for several moments, taking in the different characters.  There was raver girl, and ogre, and several generic hip hop clothing wearing, hat tilted, quasi-scene boys.  The ones that are better suited moving to a fifty cent tune than a PVD track, but still go to these events in hopes of grabbing a scantily dressed raver bunny tripping balls.  There were actually two raver girls in question, one being a tattoo covered, dred-headed, elfin creature.  The other, was the j-lo raver.  J-lo raver had a tilt-y hat boyfriend, who looked about as comfortable dancing with his chick as michael richards front row at the naacp.  I felt for the poor drunk bastard, and hoped that the reggaeton in his mind would help him get through the night.

Meanwhile, ogre piston pumped his gigantic mitts into the air rhymically, working up a tremendous sweat in the process.  At one point, he paused, and removed his wife-beater tank top, exposing his gargantuan frame, and scaring some of the smaller raver bunnies into corners as a result.

At this point I turned around laughing, and found myself staring at an old high school buddy of mine, Leif.  We exchanged greetings and made small talk, and soon I was staring at the crowd again, drinking a bottle of poland spring, courtesy of jen.  A girl stepped in front of me and began to fix her shirt, as it appeared her tremendous breasts were spilling right out of it.  She finished and moved to the side, it was then that Leifs friend introduced himself.  It appears that the girl was his girlfriend, and he was drunk, and apparently did not seem to like the fact that she adjusted herself in such close proximity.  Leif introduced me to him, and I knew two things right away, the girlfriend was clearly babysitting a drunk schmuck, and she was dying to leave.  So, after a brief conversation, he contented himself with publicly molesting his girlfriend for a while.

I took my leave and leaned against the bar, praying that the awful trip-hop set would soon come to an end, as I had been promised earlier that Brian Dunn would be on right after this pack of jibba jabba spewing assclowns.  I watched as guys danced quickly, and attempted to do things like breakdance on that filthy floor, and fly into the air and click their heels.  Frankly, it looked like crouching tiger, hidden moron.  Everyone can dance how they like, but once your dancing runs the risk of bodily injury to me, then it becomes a problem, hence why I avoid the pointless and idiotic mosh pits at concerts.

Vinny and Justin returned after leaving to go to a different bar earlier, and brought re-enforcements with them.  Justin, clearly drunker than before, proceeded to play penis bash with me.  The concept is very simple, one unsuspecting person leans against a bar, and the other, humorously proceeds to slam his crotch into the other persons crotch several times in rapid succession. 

I fled to the other side of the bar, and watched ogre unsuccessfully attempt to court jo-jo, the resident huge breasted bartender.  Bless his sasquatch soul, he brought his “A” game, but it clearly was not enough.  I watched as ogre went back to the dance floor dejected, half-heartedly pumping his grapefruit sized fists to the chinese water torture that was coming through the speakers.  Imagine, the loudest, fastest, most obnoxious noises, and a man who frantically babbles to its awful combination of bass that sounds like it belongs in a car audio show, not a dance floor.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dunn finally came on, and I danced in my little corner, resisting the urge to move into the middle of the dance floor and flying kick one of those acrobatic fools straight off the floor.

I look up for a brief moment and see that drunk boy, and babysitting girl are still there, and, they are next to me on the dance floor. Drunk boy appears to be gesturing towards me, and babysitter re-directs him to another, clearly gay man to the left of me.  He talks to the man, who shrugs, and babysitter rolls her eyes impatiently.  The man laughs and tells drunk boy that he would buy him a shot.  This appears to be enough to satisfy drunk boy, and he follows the man back to the bar, trailing the miserable babysitter.

I knew what she did, as drunk boy was clearly looking for any excuse to engage in violence.  But for some reason, I was slightly disappointed when they left, and I did not know why.  Maybe I was looking for an excuse too.

At this point, I have had enough.  Even the sweet sounds of Dunn cannot keep me there, and so I say my goodbyes, and walk out of metasin having spent almost nothing, danced for several hours, and left completely sober.

As I start the douche mobile, I recognize how rare this is.  But I like it. 

Tis better to watch morons, than to be one.



Dead Weight.


Where once we loved and twisted free,
House we bought by lonely tree,
Lives we thought were bound by fate,
Now I feel just your dead weight,

Lifted you, your mother too,
Gave you lives shiny new,
When it was too much to take,
Attached to me, you stayed dead weight,

I would give anything,

To go back,

And I would do anything for you,

So that I never met you,

You have left my life in ruins,
Walking cancer, through and through,
There will never be a sickness,
Quite as bad as meeting you,

Where once it was,
I would kill for a date,

Now afar, you are nothing, but dead weight.



Eternal Sunshine.


Eternal Sunshine. 


Spring is here, the sun shines every day so bright,

Never mind the bitter cold,

The warmth I feel is here to stay,

A sweet embrace,

A soft caress,

Never mind the duress,

Insects busy, flowers bloom,

In the distance, danger looms,

Close your eyes,

Deny your doom,

I do not want to let it go,

Winter is too long for me,

Hold the warmth as tight as can be,

Years of darkness, frost await,

At the end,

Is it too late?