When God’s Your Facebook Friend

She's a Maineiac

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[It’s early morning. I’m folding a mountain of laundry. A bolt of lightning cracks overhead and a blinding light fills the room. I drop my husband’s underwear to the floor, shield my eyes and squint at the ceiling.]

Me: What the…?

God: [voice booms] IT IS I!

Me: God? Is that You?

God: [yells] YES! OF COURSE IT’S ME! [mutters] Didn’t I just say that?

Me: Wow, oh wow! You finally show up! I have so much to ask you! Let’s start with the wars and the poverty and the sick and the dying and the pain and the suffering and the–

God: I know, right?

Me: So will humans ever learn to choose love over fear, compassion over hate?

God: Tsk-tsk. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. That shirt doesn’t go with those pants, dear child.

Me: Huh?

God: And your makeup! Please! The color is all wrong! [sighs] Atrocious. Have you not seen my recent Pinterest featuring Rihanna’s…

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Ann.

I love original, unrated, real, blogs, stories, rants, whatever. Just as long as it’s real and raw. It always gives me inspiration to create something of my own. So here goes.
This is a short story that I’m making up as I go. It’s filled with some childhood memories and some improvised.

   I never really mastered the whole “picking up girls” thing that my brother always talked about. I was a short fat kid with very little interest in girls (other than I’m suppose to like them). Honestly, I would rather be in the back yard feeding my pigeons. Chicks were complicated and hassles and over rated. That’s coming from my 12 year old mind. My preteen self hadn’t gone through puberty yet. I was still somewhat innocent.
   I had seen naked women before but so what? Of course, they were in Playboy magazines. But ass was ass and tits were tits. I didn’t see the big deal. My brother was 3 years older than I and he did.
   He had this smile, this Elvis like grin that would make the girls go wild.
  I however, had seen him practice this look in the mirror for hours. It just seemed like a crooked Joker grin to me.
   My brother once told me, “always make them giggle right after seeing you. That’s how you get them hooked.”
Hooked? Why the fuck would I want then hooked?
   So there I was in the back yard, feeding my 21 pigeons and being completely satisfied and happy. That is, till Ann moved in a week later.
   She was short, dark hair, glasses and a huge, wide smile. Not freaky like what my brother was trying to create. Just perfect. I was sitting in the kitchen when I noticed the moving truck parking on the lawn a few houses down. Then suddenly she walked out of the house wearing a Ramones t-shirt, jean shorts and barefoot. I was twelve years old but something about her bare feet that just made me melt. I was a freaking mess for the next few weeks.
   I would find any excuse to sit at the that table, peering out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Time would pass, sometimes days and I wouldn’t see any sign of her. Why was she amazing? I really don’t know.
   Up until then, the only special feeling that girls ever gave me was during Three’s Company. Their breast did it to me every time. But just theirs. Other women never had me starting at their cleavage. I honestly didn’t care. But this girl was different.
   She didn’t flaunt her body like the girls that my brother talked to. She would wear different t shirt. Always jeans. Either jean shorts, white jeans, blue jeans or dark jeans. I spent allot of time at that kitchen table, peering out that window.
   I walked in front of her house everyday on the way to school and on the way home. The butterflies in my stomach would go crazy every time I was near her home. But a month later I would finally meet her.
Damn it.
I was happier in my fantasy from afar. But that’s a story for tomorrow.

  

The Politician- Dates 1 and 2

Gotta love an honest, REAL blog. My new favorite reading. It’s like Charles Bukowski but without the heavy binge drinking.

Daisies, love, and peace

Sunday night was the first date with the politician. It was the first time I did a first meeting/first date over dinner. It started out every bit as awkward as I expected. Eventually, warmed up to each other and were able to have semi-normal conversation. We mostly talked politics(hence his name). It was actually interesting, because we have opposing views on things, but we are both people who enjoy hearing the other side. After dinner, we stood awkwardly in the parking lot for a few minutes talking. He asked if I wanted to go get ice cream. So we did. We ate the ice cream and then sat in the back(bed) of the truck, just talking more. He talks more than I do, which is typically difficult. We parted ways with a peck on the lips and a promise to see each other again this week.

Last night was “date”…

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OkCupid

Where are the standard souls?
Today marks my one month on OkCupid and I’m disappointed with it all.
Matches and matches of women traveling the world, finishing their Master’s, running enormous businesses or showing their world famous art in expensive galleries. They run marathons, hike across vast lands, speak several languages and hold expansive taste in food and wine. They teach students of all ages, hold several degrees and live healthy and responsibly.
Fuck me.
No wonder I’m not in a relationship with any of them.
I have my GED that I earned after a weekend of studying after finding out I was going to be a dad.
I’ve traveled to a few places but no where outside of a few states.
I speak English (of course) and Spanish. But not because I wanted to explore vast, tropical beaches and converse with the locals or teach small children the language of the free world. My parents spoke Spanish and if you wanted to speak to them, well you spoke Spanish.
I don’t run unless something is chasing me. And even then I weigh my options.
I am self employed but I’m not in it to make huge amounts of money because if that was the case I would be doing a better job of working it myself.
I do hike. I do love to get lost in open wilderness. But after a while I start checking my phone for Twitter updates and the fix gets the best of me.
I do cook and cook well. But my ingredients are usually what’s left untouched in the pantry.
I try to live healthy. Sometimes though, I lose the fight with the urge for a milkshakes. Ok that’s a lie. I throw the fight and let it win.
And living responsibly. Is anyone REALLY living responsibly? I drive a car that’s adding to my great, great grandchildrens eventual death. I use chemicals for work that are probably adding to my chances of getting some form of cancer. I have several electronics that were made in various parts of the world where what I make in an hour is what they make in a month. I eat meat. Do I even need to elaborate on that whole subject? I have clothing that’s probably been produced through child and slave labor.
I’m not the healthiest guy. I’m not the most funniest guy. I like to be lazy sometimes. I masturbate more than I think I should. I like porn (reason is due to previous sentence). I speak profanity when away from my kid. I get depressed, self loath, self hate and wallow in self pitty. I enjoy alcohol every now and then with a side of gluttony.
But I also try to be honest. I admit when I’m wrong. I work my ass off when I have to. I’m open to new ideas, experiences and people. I think I’m a pretty good guy. And I honestly believe I’m a good dad.
That’s me. I just want someone that’s open enough to admit they’re not AMAZING. Just be real. So what if your a lemon. Maybe I’m interested in lemonade?
Screw this online dating crap.
Maybe I’ll meet that special “someone” through the normal, boring means, like at a grocery store or gas station. Maybe I already have but I’m so freaking distracted by all of these glammed up profiles that I haven’t even noticed.
Maybe I should get away from the glowing screen and get outside.
Yeah, maybe.

Sleeeeep…

Worst thing that a person with an eating disorder can do (besides ignoring your triggers) is ignoring your need for sleep.
   When your running on empty your body tries to save energy. Slowing down your metabolism is one way. Gorging on food for energy is another. At least for me it is.
   Last night was a rough night. Probably 3 hours sleep total ALL night. I was definitely dragging today. And my daughter knows when I’m tired because, “dad becomes GROUCHY”. I know this well.
But besides having a much smaller fuse, I also binge eat.
My body keeps telling my stomach that I need to eat for fuel, to keep going. Especially at night because I’m so eager for bed a few hours earlier. But I still have chores to do. Laundry, dishes or getting my love ready for bed.
Today she had a cheerleading game. And tomorrow morning her teams taking team pictures. I’m looking at, CORRECTION. We’re looking at an early morning.
And to make it worse, tonight I ate past my dinner time. And I was doing so, SO good.
I got through it though.
I’m in bed.
Weak and tired.
I might get up in the middle of the night. If I do, just water please. No more .
..    

How a Domino’s Pizza Deal Saved My Marriage

Pizza CAN save your marriage. ITS TRUE!!!

Vondrook Comedy Magazine

In An Effort To Save Advertisement Dollars, the Corporate Executive Submits to Writer’s Digest

My wife and I, we lead busy lives. Like most modern families, we are a two income household, so you can imagine how stressful our days can be. I am some kind of middle-management something or other and my wife, she um, well, she wears a lady-suit. Gray, usually. With small shoulder pads.

We hustle and bustle through our workday, putting out fires and stuff, so when we both get home after handling all sorts of stressful workday stuff, then deciding who is going to make what for dinner? Well, why don’t you just give us each a loaded gun? That’s how dangerous it is.

The weekday dinner is where everything that is wrong in our marriage comes to a head. The mutual stresses of both our days coalesce as we decide what to do to feed…

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I am a smartphone addict and the world is going to hell.

I am an addict.. I mean, No I’m not! …yes I am…

She's a Maineiac

nomophobia-1Nomophobia — the fear of being out of mobile phone contact.

A drastic change happened in my life this past year. I ditched my trusty old flip phone from the dinosaur age — the one I never texted on and barely used to even make phone calls — for a damn smartphone.

What the hell was I thinking?

Now I’m addicted to this soul-sucking piece of plastic and it feels sad. First sign I had a problem? If a few hours went by without checking it, my hands would sweat, my heart would pound and nothing would ease the subtle yet unnerving feeling I was missing out on something, anything (ohmygodsomethingishappeningIjustknowit!) unless I checked my phone.

The problem is, once you get that fix, you want another hit over and over again just to maintain.

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Before I went to bed at night?  Gotta check Facebook.

First thing after I had my morning coffee? Gotta check my…

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