I'm not sure how I feel about weddings.

Sometimes I feel like it's not worth the effort, ya know?

Not the act of getting married.

That's fine.

People should get married.

But the whole circus that comes along with putting up a big wedding.

I really feel like a lot of the stress this process causes is not worth it.

I thought about it for a while.

I used to really wish I could have given my wife a huge wedding.

I want to make her feel special, ya know?

I want her to know that everything I do is for her and our family.

But it's really weird that we go through this whole process to get to an end that can be accomplished with relatively less stress, less effort, and less pointlessness.

You can celebrate pretty well without dropping 20 G's.

But whatever. It each their own.

I get it. I understand.

I love my cousin, man.

That dude.

He hooked me up.

He introduced me to baseball.

He shaped a lot what I thought was important way back in the day.

Congrats, Gerard. And thank you.

Thank you for bringing me back into your life.

I definitely appreciate the role you've played in my life.

You are the older brother I never had.

You are the reason why I even had an interest in baseball.

You got me buying baseball and football cards from the corner store.

You got me running to your house to make sure I could catch the Tyson fight before he decided to knock some motherfucker out.

And now we find our paths crossing again.

We haven't missed a beat.

Congrats, brother. Godspeed.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Baseball season is only a few weeks away and the days are just as long as the nights and getting even longer.

I was finding myself stressing over many things that are outside of my control. It's something that I have always done, but not to the point where I felt it was going to affect my health.

It's become pretty clear that even including my drinking problem, my lack of sleep, and my horrible diet, stress stands out as the my main health concern.

I've really been trying to let go of all of it. There's really no point in dwelling on what you cannot control. But it's truly difficult to break old habits.

With the Lakers ready to put away the San Antonio Spurs, the reigning NBA champions, Kobe Bryant is on the doorstep of solidifying his status as one of the three or 4 greatest basketball players of all time.

Kobe is finally winning without Shaq, a monkey on Kobe's back that has allowed skeptics to always say, "He hasn't won shit without The Diesel." Which is true. He still hasn't won a damn thing without The Big Man to play off of.

And I'll admit it. I really dislike Kobe. I use dislike because hate is too strong a word. I don't really hate anybody but Osama Bin Laden, Hitler, and my 8th grade science teacher. But to me he's confident to a fault. His swagger is more Sherminator than it is Shaft. His mannerisms seem forced, contrived, and pre-conceived. There's something constructed and inauthentic about him that just gets under my skin.

Add the legions of Laker fans to the mix? Well, you get the picture.

But yeah. He's really about to turn me around. I respect Kobe for his basketball skill. He is undeniably the premiere NBA player in the league today. He's unstoppable.

I also find it pretty ironic that this season turned out to be his first MVP season, considering this is easily the strongest team Los Angeles has fielded since the departure of Shaq to Miami.

Congrats, Kobe. I can't really hate anymore. But I will continue to dislike you.

Sometimes you have to get lost in order to truly appreciate home.

It's official. I'm staying put until I get kicked out.

Suicide has crossed my mind.

Sometimes I scare myself.

But I have too much to fight for.

Would it fix anything?

Probably not.

But least you wouldn't have to wonder.

I just want it to stop.

I'm tired of the insecurity.

I'm tired from the pain.

I'm weary.

I probably couldn't kill myself anyway.

This is probably a cry for attention.

But this isn't about me.

It's about you.

And I can't control that.

It's not your fault.

It's mine.

And I wish I could take control.

But there's no way I could possibly do that.

Except suicide.

I woudln't do it.

But it's crossed my mind.

And I'm scared.

Not because I might kill myself.

But because I don't know if you'll ever come back.

And if you don't?

I couldn't commit suicide.

Because I'd simply lose any reason to live.

And I'd already be dead.

Regardless of what happens between your mom and I, I wanted to let you know that you saved my life.

You are the reason why I was able to get up everyday and do what I had to do. You allowed me to focus my energy into something that was a continuous project way into the future rather than the short-lived "now". You. Because back then, that's all I was about. The moment. I had no vision into the future. I didn't know where I would be a month into the future. I didn't care.

But then you came along and changed all that.

You are very special. I push you so hard because I know you can be something special to many people. I feel as if there is so much I want to prepare you for because I want you to reach your full potential. Then I remember to step back and let you be a kid. So I do.

And that's why I'm writing this. I can't tell you this right now, because you wouldn't understand. But regardless of what happens between your mom and I, I want you to know that we both love you and your sister very much. It was and will never be your fault that you mom and I fight, or yell, or cry. You will always be the reason why we worked. You'll be the reason why we tried so hard to make it work. You'll be the reason why we finally grew up and realized what it takes to be adults. We would do anything for you. Anything.

You're the reason why we know love.

You know what i really don't like?

When strippers spank themselves. Like, in the whole realm of fantasy where I'm getting off on a girl grinding against me (and this is a girl that really just wants my moneyand has no interest in me whatsoever otherwise), I'm not really believing that somehow a self-spanking is hot or remotely erotic.

It's kind of like watching pornos with girls sucking on dildos, acting like it's getting them off.

I'm thinking, "Fuck, I mean this is fake and all...but that shit is HELLA unrealistic..."

The ultimate mind-fuck behind feeling betrayed is the fact that deep down inside you still care for the person that betrayed you.

You probably don't know it, but you're the person that drew me to baseball.

You're the reason why I went on to play baseball.

You're the reason why I love baseball.

And last Tuesday I had the opportunity to finally give thanks.

I kind of feel like you left on odd terms. It seemed incomplete and unfinished.

I know I was only to be there in person to cheer you on a handful of times in my life, but rest assured I did everything I could to hop on KNBR 680 and catch every pitch, every picture perfect swing, and that intense glare.

What does Kruk call it? The "Nuschler".

As you walked from the right field fence towards the outfield, I cheered as loud as I could. I wanted to let you know that I remembered everything about your game and everything you did for not only the Giants as a team, but us fans. Then I stopped to listen. The cheers became louder and louder and more intense than anything we heard all day. It was as if not only me, but everyone in the stadium felt that way at that very moment.

I had to fight back tears, partially because it was such a touching moment, but mostly because I felt what previously seemed "incomplete" was finally laid to rest. It's been just over 20 years since I first saw you play and you still make me feel like a 7 year old kid, anticipating the first pitch of the game.

It's the same feeling I get before every Giants baseball game I watch.

I don't think I'm going to my 10 year high school reunion this year.

I'm not exactly sure what soured me to the idea of attending.

It may have stemmed from a conversation I had with a friend regarding a classmate that held some sort of grudge against me because of a picture I posted on the Internet 9 years ago. And it wasn't even a picture of someone giving a blowjob or showing their titties. I honestly don't even know what the picture was actually of and I'm pretty sure the picture was rather pedestrian in nature. I just know that she was still holding on to that well over 8 years after the fact.

It also may stem from the fact that I'm not really out of touch with people I care about seeing again. I still see and communicate with people I feel like keeping in touch with. My circle of friends today is wound pretty tight, and only a few of my friends from high school have managed to stick around. There are also those that I don't necessarily consider within my tight circle of friends, but are still other people I respect ande trust with just about anything. And with the advent of websites like MySpace and Friendster, most of these people are just a click away.

I've really tried to give everybody a clean slate since I've seen them in high school. It's really unfair to hold people accountable for things they did back then. Admittedly, I went through a good portion of the last 10 years holding on to some, if not all of these perceptions and assumptions. But I have reached a point where I can take people for what they are now as opposed to what they were or what I perceived them to be.

But some things never change, and a lot of the feelings I experienced in high school come back with a vengence when I think about being around a lot of these people who would most likely be in attendance. Don't get me wrong. I really enjoyed high school. But even though I eventually became rather popular and was extremely invovled in many school fuctions and athletics, I never really"fit in". And now that I think about it, that's probably why my currently circle of friends consists of people from different schools in different cities, some of whom actually have their own little circle of friends as well.

Ah. Whatever. Maybe I'll just play it by ear at this point. I guess I've just convinced myself that maybe showing up wouldn't be so bad. It'll force me to just get the fuck over it already.

The 15 of us filed out of the room into the hallway.

I sat on a kneehigh bench with my elbows on my knees and my hands on my face, slowly massaging my forehead. I truly was having issues with what I had just heard in the other room. I looked around and saw that my shock was accompanied by the shock of others. Judging by the looks on the faces of the people around me, they were in just as much disbelief, if not completely distraught. Two, if not several of the women were near tears with one woman still wiping tears rather aggressively from under her eyes. I buried my fear and confusion in my palms, then stared down at the floor, stopping briefly to recognize the white floor with speckles, then almost completely zoning out into a blur.

Not a single one of us said a word. It was as if we each suffered a minor car crash. After the initial shock, you try to pull information together to realize what just happened. You take a mental inventory of how you feel about the situation. Then, you finally have the ability to actually react to what just happened.

The first couple steps of that process took a lot longer than one would expect. And even when I finally felt comfortable enough to say anything, I still kept to myself, remaining sensitive to the people around me that may not have recovered as quickly as I did.

This was definitely something I had not expected.

And I've been thinking about it all day and every day since.

As I sat there starring across the courtroom, I was consciously trying not to look at him in the eyes.

I know you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover under any circumstance. Doing so sets you up for disappointment and embarrassment. Plus, there is a greater prize at stake here: Justice. But for some reason I felt compelled to at least get a good glance. Regardless of how open-minded we may think we are, the first impression you get from any single person you see plays a rather powerful role in how you perceive him or her.

I don't want to overstate my importance in this situation. In the grand scheme of things, my judgement may be insignificant. And in that fact I am somewhat relieved.

We are being asked to be objective, something of which I believe I am capable. But there's definitely a human aspect to this that is hard to supress. I am being asked to not involve my personal emotions to allow myself to be objective.

That's a promise I can't make.

To say that I'm not used to working in high stress situations would be pretty accurate.

I've been in high stress situations in their workplace. I think most people have. But I've never been in a position where I am under the constant thumb of stress.

I like to believe I'm a competitive person. I think that being competitive is part of being successful and good at what you do. So the competitive side of me tells me to "man up" and deal with the stress. Bowing down to to it is only a sign of weakness and vulnerability. Right?

Well, recently I've been feeling pretty burned by the stress at my job. And it's not necessarily that my job is difficult or hard, or that I have deadlines that I can't meet. I the stress is just constant. It's always there. I'm always worrying about something, and if I'm not worrying about something work related I feel like I'm not doing my job by not carrying the load.

I talk to the other guys I work, and when we're at the office they don't seem to be having as much of an issue dealing with the demands of our job. But I see how my work-related stress has affected my personal life. I've been more tired than usual and find myself easily frustrated by my friends and family. It sucks. I never really noticed how this as affected my life outside of the office.

I'm not too happy about all this. At all.

But I'm in an interesting position where I'm learning more than I ever would anywhere else. It's definitely within my grasp to find a job that is closer to home and actually pays more, but those jobs aren't exactly jobs that will allow me to move up to bigger and better things. Experience is key in my field. I feel fortunate that I was promoted to this new position that I'm working. The more time I spend just being a student of the game will allow me to kick back later in life. So just maybe the quality of life I seek is indeed a possibility, but I have to sacrifice to make an investment on the future.

The real world sucks like that. Kids, if you're reading this: Stay In School.

In junior high, I remember one time getting ready for school, walking halfway up the hill on my way to the bus stop only to remember it was a holiday.

I also remember getting ready for school once when I was late. I just grabbed some jeans off the floor and ran to the bus stop. As I was running, I felt a sock from the day before fall out of a pants leg. I thought about stopping, but I was late.
I walked past my sock every day to and from the bus stop for months until it finally disappeared.

It's really no secret: I've been sucked up into the Lost bandwagon and am now spending my weeks waiting for Wednesday night. My wife and I really started watching about 3 months ago when I snagged the first couple episodes off the web. Then Kenny gave me his copy of the Season 1 DVD's and it was over. We finished Season 2 the day Season 3 started, and it's now all good in the hood.

It's been a while since I've been so caught up on a current television show. I really like Fox's House, which kicks all kinds of ass. But we've been seriously slacking on watching our DVR'd episodes. New episodes are on hiatus now during the MLB playoffs and World Series, so hopefully we'll be able to catch on.

I really can't stress how awesome having a DVR is. It's great. My life doesn't stop if a show I really need to watch comes on. I can just record it conveniently and watch it when I want to. It's great.

I'm really taking the death of "Crocadile Hunter" Steve Irwin harder than I thought I would.

I mean, it's not like I'm going to cry or anything. But it's definitely something that bothers me. I've been really thinking about my own mortality lately. Not even "lately". I was thinking about it last night. I haven't really been dwelling on the fact that I will eventually die, but how I'll meet my demise. I didn't want to put my family through that pain. I want to be around for them forever.

I don't know. It's a weird thing thinking about our mortality. We're so caught up in our everyday lives that sometimes we don't appreciate that we're here to see another day. As corny as it sounds, it makes sense. I'll take more time to sit around with my family, hold my baby in my arms, put my arm around my son, and take glances at my wife wondering to myself what the hell she's doing with a piece of shit like me.

"Bossy" may be the one of the worst new slang terms to come about in recent years.

But I'll be damned if I wasn't saying "I'm BOSSY!" like all day yesterday.

Fuck that song. Seriously.

I was driving by the cemetery yesterday on my way home from work and I saw a lady standing next to a grave, looking down and wiping tears away from her eyes.

I couldn't help but start crying there in my car.

Not necessarily because I felt bad for the lady, but because I thought about how it is inevitable that one day I will be in the same position as she is. Looking down at my own father's grave and wishing he was still around.

I've never been really close with my dad. We never really had sitdown talks that went all night. We didn't play catch together or anything that most would consider normal in a father/son relationship. He's simply not the loving kind of father. He's a no-nonsense, lead by example, do your work and go home kind of guy. He stressed constantly about paying bills and providing for his family financially.

It's definitely taken it's toll on him. Hypertension and other health issues are signs that he worried more about our wellbeing than his own. He's now retired at home doing a lot of nothing, and I'm working supporting my own family. Thankfully, he doesn't have to worry about me as much. So we actually have a better relationship now than we've ever had. He no longer is stressed out about how I'm going to "turn out" and whether or not he did enough to make sure I succeed in life.

Maybe it's because I understand him more. I have my own family that I loose sleep over. He was the same way. I've mentioned it before, but the reason why he waited so long to get married and start a family was because he wanted to make sure he could support one. He was and is that thoughtful.

Or maybe he understands me more. He knows that I'm struggling to take care of my family. He knows that I'm not the selfish, irresponsible kid that he used to have to bail out of bad situations almost on a weekly basis.

Maybe I'm selfish. I want him around forever. Not because he's helpful with my kids when I need it or because he's handy around the house. But because we finally know each other. We understand each other. He doesn't ever have to tell me that he loves me. I know he does. He's shown it time and time again. I really don't know if there's anything I can do or say that can express how truly grateful I am of him and what he's done for me and my own family.

That's why I dread the day I'll have to come to the cemetery on Father's Day and cry that he's no longer around. Because no matter what I do from here on out, I'll still feel like I haven't even come close to reciprocating what he has given me these last 26 years.

The antics of Hard Gay Razor Ramon may be the funniest things I've ever seen.

Ever.

Thank God for Japan. They know the funny.

And for those not in the know, youtube.com is your friend.

For the many of us that have moved out of an apartment in the past, there is a familiar feeling towards the end of the move that literally comes out of no where:

"Fuck the deposit."

I really don't give a shit anymore. Keep the 300 or 500 dollars or whatever I wrote out. I don't feel like cleaning up this mess that has accumulated over the last 2 years.

That coffee stain on the carpet, smack dab in the middle of the living room? Yeah, I did that shit. I'm sure they'll notice the rough patch of carpet just in front of the front door.

That's a semen stain. Yes, I tried to take it out. No, I don't give a shit. Yes, I laughed to myself every time I saw someone step on it.

And the bathroom? Fuck the bathroom. I'm grabbing my tooth brush, my tooth paste, and I'm out. You can keep the piss stains.

The place is a mess. And today, the moves are coming to take all the furniture and the dozens of boxes we've packed. And when that's all gone, I'm sure what will happen. I'll care less. You know how people always say "I couldn't care less"? Well, you can. And it's when you realize that your deposit isn't worth the effort to clean up the rest of the apartment.