"Most times, genius is misunderstood, but understand
You stand under unstable tables of foundation
My true occupation, dissemination of information
Usin' both sides of the brain, and I ain't complacent
Complain when I speak, fuck Priority Records
Like Prince, I'm writin' "slave" on my cheek, cause my kids gotta eat
Meanwhile A&R's sniffin' coke, gettin' kickbacks, fuck that
My written's like Christ wit a cross on his back
I'll breathe a total Black experience on a track
What use to be hot was what a emcee said
Now Hip-Hop don't respect you unless you platinum or dead"

- Ras Kass "Van Gogh"

The most satisfying thing about hearing on almost every news station that "Fahrenheit 9/11" was the #1 movie this weekend in the box office is watching these same dignified news anchors saying "White Chicks" is the 2nd movie on the list without even cracking a smile.

Beautiful.

I am totally digging the amount of discussion that Michael Moore's movie "Fahrenheit 9/11". I don't care if people agree. I don't care if people vehemently disagree. I just love the fact that it has sparked so much discussion, especially among the 24 and younger crowd. For Bush, against Bush, shaved, shit I don't care. Just as long as people start understanding the importance of this November, and every November for the rest of their lives.

I went to a wedding two weeks ago and I'm going to be part of a wedding next month. In August, I'll be attending another wedding. I like weddings. They always bring me back to when I got married. When you get married, you really take inventory in your relationship with your significant other. You question yourself no matter how sure you are, "Is this the right person?" I married my wife for all the right reasons and I can sincerely say that without a flinch. I can see the doubt and concern in the eyes of the bride and groom before the wedding, but it quickly changes to assurance and relief. You know it. They'll be okay. We'll be okay. It's love, ya know?

I walk around life sometimes marveling at all the knowledge I've attained in my 24 years of life. I stand proud and confident in my ways. But knowledge isn't what I'm ultimately after. Wisdom is what I pursue. And wisdom isn't acknowledging what you know, it's acknowledging what I don't know and taking every step needed to acquire that knowledge.

My son is so brutally honest sometimes. I love it. And he means no mal-intention what so ever. I think the term "brutally honest" makes it seem like everything should be sugar coated. Our dialogue with each other is filled with euphemisms, as if the truth will "hurt". Hell, there's even a saying that truth "hurts". But does it? Or are we too proud to acknowledge imperfection?

I hate tabloid tv shows like "Celebrity Justice" and "Entertainment Tonight" because it shows something pretty disturbing about our society. Not only do we put celebrities on pedestals to the point where we need their daily lives spoonfed to us on a daily basis, but we love seeing them crash, burn, and make mistakes. We build them up, then we tear them down. That shit sounds pretty damn demented, so I'm refusing to take part of it. Fuck a celebrity. I'd tell their mama they ain't shit.

I like good music. From Pantera's "Walk", to E-40's "Mustard and Mayonaise" to Nina Simone's "Funkier Than A Mosquito's Tweeter". I like raw breakbeats that hit so hard you can bare fight off the urge to brooklyn rock to it like Jimmy Castor's "It's Just Begun". I want shit that I can just bang my head to with guitar riffs so sharp that they can cut through glass, like Metallica's "One". I listen to songs that can tickle your heart by the time you hear the very first note like Troop's "All I Do Is Think Of You".
We take music for granted these days. It is, after all, the soundtrack to our lives. I can go to music to fill my heart and soul with emotion, or to find something that can articulate my feelings. From politics to partying, there is music for every moment of our lives. We associate good and bad memories with music. It's not coincidence. Music is a gift from God.

I can't stand it when people say that "It's just music." It's not. For the people who devote their lives to their music, it is literally "life". Fuck what your heard. There is a little bit of genius in every musical artist out there who put their heart and sole into their music.

Recognize. Learn. Respect.

No frills. No bullshit.

A conversation with Kool Keith on AIM today convinced me to just say "fuck you" to my hit counter, my comments, and my links. Well, okay. Maybe it wasn't just the conversation with Kool Keith. It was a combination of several things. Kristen over at Madpony decided to hang up the blogging boots for good, even leaving a "goodbye" post to all her "fans". Boo fuckin' hoo. Hell, I didn't even know until KK told me during our AIM conversation. I went over there to see the damage.

Reading through the comments, I was torn. I couldn't decide who I felt worse for. Was it the sorry ass readers who longed for the insight of a girl who's biggest problems consisted of the lack of Lime Diet Coke at her regular soda machine or her lack of money to go to a prom with another blogger across the country? Or, did I feel more sympathetic for Kristen, someone who was so gassed that in an AIM conversation with Muscle68, turned a snobby nose upward and asserted that the popularity of her blog was more than his and Raymi's. She obviously wrote with the sense that she was fulfilling an obligation to her readers. They wanted her to post. They needed her to post. They wanted to live vicariously through the lives of two girls who's dad had the fuckin' ovaries to be referred to as "Dadpony".

But damn, isn't that a shitty ass reason to write? I mean, that's not even about you anymore. This realization made me realize that I put to much stock in the feedback I received from the site. Feedback in the form of hits and comments and links became valuable to me for some reason. As if they validated the existence of my blog. But that's not what this is all about. This is about me. This is about me writing to me. This is about me writing about what's important to me. This is about me getting what I want out of writing. This is catharsis. This is healing. This is therapy. This is me.

So don't take it personally. The links, the comments, the hit counter? That was all cosmetic. Unnecessary. Unneeded. I can't lie an say that my blog was some underappreciated piece of genius like Ridley Scott's "Bladerunner". This blog was never popular. It was never genius. It never has nor will be. But it will still be here even after everybody stops reading it. If you come and read, cool. If you don't come. Cool.

No frills. No bullshit.

I had dinner last week with three old friends from high school. We all met at Applebee's, which was unusually crowded for a Tuesday night because of the second game of the NBA Finals. As groups of people huddled around the 3 or 4 televisions tuned in to the game, the three of us had your typical "catch-up" conversations that included topics such as our current occupations, recent gossip of people we knew in high school, and just over all bitching, pissing, and moaning about how we wished our lives were better in one way or another.

One conversation tangent led me to blurt out, "I fuckin'hated high school." This statement taken without the context of where my mind was at the time could be taken as a blatant lie. Because honestly, I loved high school. I was popular. I had the cute girlfriend. I was the funniest guy in class. I was on the baseball team. I was the student body activies commissioner. I was voted "most spirited" and was even listed as so in my senior year yearbook standing next to a cheerleader. But I look back on those years with a feeling that borders on disgust?

Why?

Well, it's really weird. There was this time in junior high where a lot of my friends turned their back on me, leaving me somewhat outcasted from my regular group of friends. By the time I got to high school, my fragile adolescent ego wouldn't let me come even close to feeling that way again. I literally worked on being popular and well liked. I went out of my way to be funny, clever, witty, and smart. I went out of my way to hang out with people that weren't "my friends", but people I thought could give others the impression that I was universally liked. I chased and achieved status in my high school. But as we all know, high school superlatives mean absolutely nothing.

I wrote once somewhere that high school is a cartoon version of real life. We spend a lot of that time thinking that we know it all, not realizing that we were living in a parody of reality. In high school, I thought I knew everything. I had everything under control. No one could tell me shit. I look back now, about 8 years after the fact, and I think about not only how much I've grown, but also how much I have yet to learn. I look back on high school and I'm almost disgusted by what I held as valuable and all the things I failed to recognize as valuable. I spent over 5 years of my life with my priorities all out of order and I hated my old self for it. Everything I thought was right was completely wrong.

But after I expressed my hatred for my high school years, I had to take a step back and thing about why I said what I said. This past year of college, I've done a lot of reflecting on my life and how much I've learned. I really can't dwell on what has happened in the past, because the past is obviously irreversible. I can only chalk it up as a loss and learn from my mistakes. It was then that I realized that maybe I didn't hate high school so much. And even if I do hate it now, it is only a reflection of my growth in the past years.

We are constantly growing, both intellectually and emotionally. Our priorities should always change, and if you don't look back a few years at the certain things you did wrong, you probably haven't growth enough to realize the errors you've made along the way. I look back on my high school years and I realize that my life was backwards. What was important to me back then really isn't important to me now, and vice versa.

That's okay. Sometimes you have to do some things wrong in order to do some things right.

We ended our dinner with hugs and promised to have a repeat engagement sometime in the near future. I drove home thinking about some of the good times I shared with those friends, and how we've all grown for the good.

Good times, I tell ya. With hopefully more to come.

Five minutes until midnight and I still can't figure out why I'm here.

It's been a long time since I've felt like this. A day in the sun is a day in the sun, but not many people choose to acknowledge the beauty. The horizon may seem cloudy, but we can't stress out about what might come. That's just a waste of time, and thoughts, and emotions.

Stop. Right there. At the period. Take a deep breath. All of us walk around with uneven suntans, but we don't always have to point out our dark sides. Be one one those people. You know, the kind that can enjoy what's on the table. The kind that doesn't cast shadows like a storm cloud. The kind that can illuminate a room with their presence and a heart with a simple smile. It doesn't take a lot, to be quite honest.

Do we take things for granted? Well, a lot of us do. But not many of even know what we have until they stop and acknowledge that things could be a lot worse. These people who walk around with their teeth clenched tight and their emotions clenched even tighter? Yeah, it could be worse for them, too. But they'd never know it. Because they're really not aware of what they really have. You want to know who knows what he really has?

Vanilla Ice.

I don't think he takes ANYTHING for granted these days.

We like to look reflect on our days as cowboys, carelessly roaming our Ponderosa without a worry in sight. We had people eating out of the palm of our hands as they hung on every over-annunciated word we spoke. Good looks are a dime a dozen but charm and charisma are things most people wish came in air-tight jelly jars. Our smile? Golden. Hollywood status. Camera's loved us and people loved us even more. Who needs a camera when our gait alone was cinematic? Life was easy.

And those were the days. No scrutiny. No second guessing. No trying to read between the lines or uncover secret motives. Life was simple and all we had to do was wave, smile, and live another day. It's kind of crazy how things can change. It's rough going from beloved to beloathed. But that's the nature of the beast. That's what we sign up for. There is no grey area in what we do. Either you do it or you don't.

So we've come to the end of the road. The part where we always thought we'd ride off into the sunset, just like one of those old cowboy films. We crack a smile at the camera, hop on our horse, say one last cliche line, and fade to black. But we see that that is not the case. It's hard to end this in the storybook manner. But it's over. Just like that. And it's kind of hard to rest in peace when peace was the last thing on our minds.

Michael Moore's new movie "Fahrenheit 9/11" comes out on June 25. It was the winner of the Palme D'or at this years Cannes Film Festival. Although many people may remember him from his outburst at the Oscars speaking out against the Bush administration, many people have not watched any of his previous films including "Roger & Me" and "Bowling For Columbine".

A lot of people have discredited Moore with the obvious fabrications, bending of the truth, and sometimes the blatant lying that he has done. But there is no denying that he provides a different perpective than the spin-doctored bias in the US media. This alone is what draws me into his work. I watched "Roger & Me" in high school, but I think it's safe to say that I really didn't understand the weight of what I was watching. I watched "Bowling For Columbine" two years ago, and I was absolutely blown away. A different and new perspective on a world I thought I had figured out got my interests stirring.

For a good portion of my life, I've watched TV with little to no skepticalism. Especially the news. The news was news and that's all I really had to think about. It took it at face value never really looking deeper into why things are portrayed the way that they are in the media. I never took into account the many people who would gain (or lose) from how something was presented. I never understood how news coverage can influence the train of though of an entire society. With "Bowling For Columbine", I witnessed the part of the news that's not covered. It was all the stuff I wanted to wonder about but didn't have the mind to.

But it's different now. There are people like Moore who are taking risks to portray our country in a way that was not and isn't deemed as acceptable. People see him as a threat to everything this country is about and is taking advantage of unfortunate situations such as the war and the Columbine incident for his own personal gain.

But wait. Isn't that what ALL forms of the media do? Why is Michael Moore being criticized and chastised for what he does? How is what he does different than what CNN, MSNBC and all these other news entities?

Well, unfortunately, it's not. It's not different. Everybody has something to gain from something and we can not trust any one news source. We cannot judge our countries standing in the world because we are biased by our own opportunites to gain and lose.

You know the deal. I'm not into politics. But whatever. I don't like anything political nor do I like discussing it a lot. I don't make friends based on political lines. I don't shit on people who hold different political values. I just vote and have my say and pray everything turns out okay.

Bottom line, I just want the truth. I use this figure all the time:

[Michael Moore]------------[The Truth]--------------[US Media]

It's out there. Somewhere. Give me a heads up if you find it.

It takes a different kind of asshole to post a blog while sitting on the toilet. But at this moment, I'm doing just that. This whole wireless Internet looked like something I can get very used to. With the purchase of a new notebook computer on Memorial Day (thanks to a relatively low price and two very generous rebates offered by CompUSA and HP), my suspicions were confirmed.

I had a pretty excellent weekend for once in a long time. After finishing my workweek at 5am on Sunday morning, I went home and slept for a good hour and a half until my wife woke me up so we could get ready for the Giant's game at SBC Park in San Francisco. Sunday's game had a special "On-Field Photo" day, where about 3000 fans who had tickets for the day's game were able to go on the field prior to the game and take pictures with their favorite Giants.

It was a really good time. It was my 2nd On Field Photo Day in two years, so I wasn't as shy asking the players to stop and take a few pictures. It was my wife's first time and I think the sight of seeing men in uniforms made her wet. She was so excited to stop the players for a picture, then after taking the picture she'd proceed to ask me who she just took a picture with. It was great. Interestingly enough, about every picture she took with a player looked like a boyfriend/girlfriend shot. Funny stuff.

That night, we came home and I bitched about how little sleep I got and my wife bitched about how she thought she was sunburned. We did find out that night that we were able to watch the fireworks displays that Six Flags Marine World (the theme park where I met and worked with my wife 6 years ago) puts on from time to time over Lake Chabot. It was a pretty decent sight just below the horizon where you could see the remnants of what was a beautiful sunset. The scene was so great I had to take a picture of it and it was also a great way to end the day. That night's sleep was much needed after what seemed like three days wrapped into one.

Memorial Day itself was rather uneventful. Other than my impuslive purchase of a laptop, we decided to have a family night and enjoyed it at home. Best day of the weekend, easily.

I don't play that shit.

I don't give a fuck if your life sucks.
I don't give a fuck if you think my life sucks.
I don't give a fuck if you take pictures of yourself with a cock in your ass.
I don't give a fuck about how many hits your blog gets.
I don't give a fuck about who you met.
I don't give a fuck about where you live.
I don't give a fuck if your dumbass worries about being recognized from your blog.
I don't give a fuck about the weather in your area.
I don't give a fuck about what your kid said.
I don't give a fuck about what you bought.
I don't give a fuck about what you wore.
I don't give a fuck about who you fucked.
I don't give a fuck what you did yesterday.
I don't give a fuck about your vacation.
I don't give a fuck about how high you got or how much alcohol your drank.
I dont' give a fuck if Tony Pierce linked you.
I don't give a fuck if you got molested.
I don't give a fuck if he hit you again.
I don't give a fuck when you live.
I don't give a fuck when you die.
I dont' give a fuck about you.

I don't give a fuck whether or not you give a fuck. You know why? I don't need to you validate my existence. I can only hope that the feeling is mutual. But honestly, I don't give a fuck. Fuck a blog. Fuck you.

Take that shit personally.

I woke up this afternoon and flipped on the television to the Cosby Show. Dreary-eyed, I half-watched the episode where Dr. Cliff Huxtable took Rudy, "Buuuuud", and a bunch of other kids to a gourmet restaurant to have some gourmet burgers. "Mmmmmm, burrrgeers." Inspired, I decided to take a trip to one of the better burger joints in town before I went to work.

I as I pulled up to Bud's Burgers, I could already smell the aroma left by a day's worth of cooking burgers and frying french fries. I parked in the empty parking lot, jumped out of my car and headed to the restaurant. Well, maybe "restaurant" isn't descriptive enough. You see, Bud's is really located in a glorified shack. The place is about the same size as a quaint one bedroom apartment and the dining area is no larger than your average living room. I walked in and noticed that the brown wooden tables are still set up exactly as I remembered. I looked up to the high vaulted wooden ceiling that probably measures about 20 feet at it's highest point. The Bust-A-Move arcade is still located adjacent to the walk where the entrance was. Directly behind it is an old Flintstones egg dispensing machine, exactly like the ones they had in Toy R' Us's across the nation circa 1985. Next to that was your typical "love meter" that measures your libido for 25 cents. Bottom line, the place was pretty shitty compared to the Pot Belly Burgers and Nation's of this world. But you should know the rule by now: The shittier the place, the better the food. Warning: This rule strictly applies to authentic Mexican food and burger joints.

As I ordered, I couldn't help but notice all the little things about the restaurant that I became very comfortable with back in high school. Bud's was the typical hangout spot for the me and the rest of the varsity baseball players at my high school. Regardless of whether we won the game or not, we were all able to go to buds and just talk. Sometimes it was just two of us, and sometimes there were 9 or 10 of us. It was a place to unwind and forget about any type of resposibility. We talked openly without having to worry about reprecussions. Sometimes I would look more forward to the aftergame meeting at Bud's instead of the game itself.

Being in there gave me an eerie feeling at first, but the place offered a sense of nostalgia that was both refreshing and relaxing all at the same time. When I got my order, I asked for a ketchup bottle, just like I did back then. As the young lady handed me the bottle, I felt the same greasiness on the bottle that I felt back then. I sat down and squeezed about a cup of ketchup on the wax paper covering my plastic orange tray just like I did back then. And for the first time in a while, I just sat there alone with just my thoughts and my memories and enjoyed my food.

When I finished up, I threw away my trash, put my tray in the same old place right next to the spot where I left the ketchup (in it's proper place as well). I said thank you to the young lady who served me my food as I walked passed her while she mopped the floor. She smiled back and I almost uncontrollably cracked a smile as I approached my car. It was nice to spend some time in a place that I associate with such good times. Good memories stay with you forever, you know?

It was a beautiful day, that's for sure.

Okay, this is the last straw. Parents are fuckin' up. It's officially official (with a stress on the redundancy). I've been saying for years that even though our children are obviously over-sexualized by the media, parents need to take responsibility for their children and raise them correctly. This is not a product of the media. This is not a product of anything other than parents (or parent) not teaching a child the difference between wrong and right. As basic as the concept may seem to us adults, it still isn't happening in today's homes. I mean, WHAT THE FUCK?

I'm almost not even shocked. I was chatting with Leah the other night and she was telling me how her friend or cousin or somebody was a kindergarten teacher, and how she was appalled to hear about kids making out in class. I can't believe that this isn't national news.

Oh fuck it. I lied. I'm shocked. This shit is crazy. I'm going to go reread Revalations to see if this 5 year old dick sucking is in there. Are you ready to die?

(Props to my boy Anthony for the link.)

Damn, this one sucked....click only if you're REALLY bored. And if you can't sleep, you might want to click this too....

I've been getting the feeling that I've been getting hits from people who've accidently wandered onto my site in search of something completely different. Instead of finding what they were looking for on the World Wide Web, they unfortunately stumbled onto this piece of shit. I decided to take a look at my referrals in my lame hit counter to see who was coming from where and why. To my amazement, I found this:

And as my wife knows, I hate leaving people disappointed. So I've decided to help people out. I will give the people what they want. You're searching for it? I can help you. Come one, come all!

Let's start off with #1. We have someone that has searched for "fat kirsty alley picture". We all know Kirsty from the "Look Who's Talking" movie series, "Cheers", and more recently on "Veronica's Closet". I did a search on google and I came up empty. So, I have to disappoint the fans of the new and improved fat Kirsty Alley. No dice. But I promise that this will be the last time I disappoint those in search of Utopia on the Internet.

#2 in our diagram shows that someone is looking for the first name of rap star, Chingy. Well, I won't leave you Chingy fans hangin'. Chingy's real name just happens to be Howard Bailey Jr. That's some shit right thurr. But since you're here checking out my site for Chingy shit, let me put you up on some knowledge: Chingy is wack. Go listen to some real music instead of puttin' money in the pockets of a weak ass rapper. I know I'm here to help the needy, but you need to open people's eyes sometimes. People get caught up in that TRL/106 and Park hype and start wildin' out. But I digress.

For numbers 3, 4, and 5, we have a group of people searching for "guys jacking off pictures". Well, I've been there. It's late. You haven't had any lovin' in a long time. You're home with nothing to do but surf the web for pictures of guys jacking off. It doesn't hit any more rock bottom than that. But I'm here to help you all out. Here is what you've come for. When I say I'll deliver the goods, I'll deliver. So for all of you guys and gals looking to getting into some great pictures of guys jacking off, here you go. It's on the house...

Was it as good for you as it was for me?

I remember an old Saturday Night Live commerical skit that featured Kevin Nealon and Victoria Jackson sharing the most intimate of moments sitting on a dual toilet seat. It was so memorable because I felt that it literally is a very personal and intimate moment that most don't share with anybody else. I don't think there is any other time where a human is so vunerable as when they are sitting on the toilet releasing a bowel.

There is nothing more personal than the time spent sitting on the toilet and taking a dump. It's probably the only thing I can be doing except jacking off where I would be really embarassed if my wife walked in on me. I mean, this is the same women who picks my whiteheads and has seen my penis up close and personal. But I am still embarassed when she comes into the bathroom while I'm dropping the kids off at the pool.

Isn't it kind of odd? I mean, we all do it about once a day. It's part of our everyday lives and our fuctions as a living organism? So why does it seem so private and taboo? Why is it so disgusting to talk about? Why are we so sensitive to something that all animals do?

The answer?

We are in love with taking a dump. Dropping a load is associated with such relief and pleasure that it, like sex, is something that we choose to keep private and to ourselves. Think about it. Our pants our down around our ankles. We're sitting down, concentrating hard on the task at hand. Hell, some people read or smoke to keep their minds elsewhere. Afterwards you have to clean up, but some people refuse to wash their hands.

DOES THIS NOT SOUND LIKE SEX FOR SOME PEOPLE?

So that brings me back to that old SNL skit. A couple. Sitting together at the toilet. Sharing a "moment". It's really not that far off from reality. Sharing the a moment where you two drop a bomb together really is the next level in an exclusive relationship. Can't you see that?

Okay, maybe it's just me. I don't know. Forget it. Forget I said anything.

Tales Of A 9th Grade Nothing

I was pleasantly surpised last week when I received a phone call on my cell phone from an old friend. It's been almost two years since I've seen her, and just as long since I have spoken to her. It was admittedly refreshing having such a long "catch up" conversation with her because we were such good friends in the past. This led me to think about how our relationship came to be the way it was and why she was and is so special to me, even if we haven't been speaking as regularly as I'd like to. So here's that story. It's not funny nor ironic. It's just something I like reminiscing about. Great friends are made of this.

We both attended the same elementary school, but it wasn't until junior high when I met her. I was in 8th grade and she was in 7th. Her older brother was in the same class year as my older sister and they were friends. So I knew about her before I really met her face to face. What started out as an odd and awkward (I remember showing up at her house once unexpectedly with my sister and she ran to her room and refused to come out)friendship developed into your stereotypically junior high friendship where most of our interaction happened on the phone. I'd talk to her about the girls I liked. She'd tell me about the guys she liked. We just talked, ya know?

9th grade rolled around something weird happened where I became very attracted to her. Not the petty "God damn she's gorgeous" attraction typically defines girlfriend/boyfriend relantionships at that age. It was different. I was so attracted to her mental and I didn't know how to deal with it.

My first reaction was to automatically tell her how I felt, not even thinking about the possible disruption it would cause to our existing friendship. So during one of our late night, post homework phone conversations I just blurted it out. She was literally shocked. She was admittedly a "late-bloomer", and I could tell that what I told her made her completely uncomfortable. It was obvious that she wasn't ready to be with me or anybody else for that matter. So I took a step back. She ended up explicitly stating that she wasn't ready for anything at the time, and I understood. Interestingly enough, we maintained the same "friendship" we had before I dropped the bomb on her.

A few months rolled around and we're still friends. One day during one of our daily 3 hour long phone conversations, she blurted out words I remember 'til this very day: "I'm Ready". Mind you, at the time Tevin Campbell had an album out called with the same exact name, an album that either she bought me or I bought her, hell I can't remember. Well, it was super cliche and I swear to God I'm not making this up. So, that nightwe were officially boyfriend-girlfriend in every sense of the word in junior high.

Now, like I said before she was a late bloomer. By the time we got "together", she was my 4th girlfiend and although I wasn't having sex, I was a little more advanced on the physical aspects of boyfriend-girlfriend interaction. My idea of what a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship entailed was slightly different than hers. I can remember how awkward it was that first day back at school after we were official. We just stood there. I was holding my backpack. She was holding her's. And we just stood there. With zero to talk about.The bell rang and we had to get back to class. And I extended my arms to at least get a hug. She kind of half reached out and we gave each other the worst hugs in the history of hugs in the galaxy. I mean, I've seen armless people give better hugs.

But I didn't really think much of it later that day. After school, she came up to me and gave me a letter and slide it into my pocket and told me to read it later. I got home that night feeling pretty good. I had a girlfriend and I loved talking on the phone with her. Unusually, she didn't call me when she normally did, so I gave her a call. When she answered, she seemed hesistant.

"Umm, is everything okay?" I asked.

"Uhhh, yeah. Did you read the letter I gave you?"

"Aww, no. I totally forgot about it."

"Well, take a look at it. Look, I gotta go now. I'll talk to you later."

"Umm, okay."

"Bye."

"Bye".

So, I ran upstairs, picked up my jeans and grabbed the letter out of my pocket and read it. As I read it, my heart immediately sunk. It was a break up letter. A fuckin' breakup letter. I couldn't believe it. It basically said something along the lines of "I guess I'm not ready" type stuff, and the most awkward hug ever pretty much sealed the deal. Pathetic, I know.

Well, even after all that we still remained friends through high school, where it culminated in me pretty much organizing her 18th birthday celebration ceremony on the fly a day before it happened and having it executed flawlessly. She was beautiful that night and I'll never forget it. That night, I couldn't help but think about her being the first girl who I knew I liked (dare I say "loved") for everything she was as a person, not strictly on what she looked like. I remember just standing there watching the event unfold and practically kicking myself that I let her get away. She was obviously a catch but was taken by another guy at the time. That, along with all the obvious personality differences among other things made me realize that she was never meant for to keep, but was meant to meet. She was the girl that taught me to look further than the exterior and find someone that can stimulate you not only physically, but mentally as well.

She's a special woman, and with this phone call last week told me that she was getting married. I could be nothing but happy for her because I know she is capable of finding a great guy, and I also know that she's going to make this guy very, very, happy.

We meet people for a reason, ya know? And if you notice that your paths keep crossing in a positive manner, God has blessed you with their presence for a reason. So, this is my official "thank you". Thank you God for allowing me to meet such a special person. Thank you to Che Che for being that special person.

I hope you read this. Congrats on the engagement and I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world.

It's been 9 days since my last blog, and quite honestly I haven't felt like writing. In addition, there have been numerous newsworthy occurrences throughout the past week that one thousand and one other blogs have already covered. So I never really felt the need to say anything. And most importantly, life has been relatively uneventful and I'm very happy, so there really isn't anything to bitch about. But there are a few things I'd like to talk about.

We have the beheading of a contractor by supposed Al-Quaeda militants. Then shortly there after, the CIA conspiracy theories regarding the beheading. Either way, it fucking sucks. Let the man rest in peace for cryin' out loud. I don't have the nerve to even watch the video myself. I just don't see any reason to, ya know?

What else? Ahh,yes. Latoya was given the boot on American Idol. People are screaming racism. People are screaming controversy. I don't give a fuck. It's whatever. People really need to take American Idol for what it is. It is NOT a talent show. It is NOT reality television. It is something that someone thought would bring in ratings. And you know what? They've succeeded. The biggest slap in the face to any aspiring musical artist that is known as American Idol has crumpled more panties in a bunch than your grandma. I don't even watch it and I'm writing about it. Genius marketing strategy.

On a similar note, I've seen commercials on WB regarding a spoof on American Idol where they purposely select the unskilled and untalented, which obviously equal ratings. As if we weren't sick enough of UC Berkeley's William Hung, WB has decided to bring forward hundreds of wannabe singers that "haven't had any professional training". They even have a fugazi ass Simon to berate the "contestants".

MTV, the real leader of the Free World, won't be left behind. They are also promoting an upcoming series with the same "fake reality" concept. Since it's obvious America is no where near sick of Punk'd,Fakin The Video picks up the ball and hobbles with it. Will I watch it? Probably not. Anyone who knows anything knows that Sci-fi Channel's Scare Tactics is better than everything else in the prank/hidden camera genre. Just the fact that MTV is behind such a show is enough to convince me it will suck.

So here I am once again, sitting on the fence in regards to reality television. I don't watch a lot of it, but I can't stop talking or complaining about it. Maybe our society is hooked on watching "reality" because we're all filled with shit in our own lives. I mean, we might as well live vicariously through the "real" lives of reality show cast members, right?.

Well, if that's the case, I got first dibs on Puck.