As posted on Muscle68.Blogspot.com:

I watch porn.

Fuck it.

No shame in it.

I can talk about watching porn, too.

Ryan watches porn.

Savannah Samson, right Ryan? I'll send you those vids eventually.

I'm married.

Yes. We have sex.

Is it enough sex?

I don't think there is such thing as "enough" when it comes to sex.

I wake up wanting to have sex.

And when I don't get it, I jack off.

While watching porn.

It seems demented.

But is it?

I mean, I don't download all this porn just to watch it.

I spank my monkey while watching it.

I choke the chicken to it.

And now my wife watches it with me.

Which is good and bad at the same time.

Because now, I really notice it when the girl has had a really bad boob job.

Or how badly women of "Ethnicity" are stereotyped to the point where it's laughable because apparently someone thinks that all Asian pornstars should speak like the prostitutes in "Full Metal Jacket" and get off on it.

Or when a girl sucks a dick that was just inside her ass and the possible health issues that could ensue.

And I can no longer get off when the girl turns backwards towards the camera and says "Put it in my ass".

Why can I no longer enjoy this once simple porn pleasure?

Because of all the times my wife rolled her eyes and laughed at the corniness of the situation.

I've become a porn critic.

Is there such a thing?

I mean, damn. I used to be able to jack off to the fist 5 minutes of "Silk Stalkings".

And before that, I used to be able to jack off to the lingerie section in the latest Macy's Sunday ad.

But those times are gone.

It's literally right at our finger tips.

Anyone can download an infinite amount of porn.

I'm not complaining.

It seems all positive to me.

But I can see how porn has noticeably demented my perception of what sex "should" be.

Like how I wouldn't mind busting my load on her face or on her tits.

Or how foreplay only consists of transit train fast cunnilingus and/or fellatio, followed by some clit stroking and a jamming of one or two digits lubricated by spit.

Sexy.

But I'll keep watching.

Like I said, I have no shame.

There's no need to hide my desire to constantly release semen.

What started as our species inate desire to propagate our genes throughout the gene pool has led to hours upon hours of porn and masturbation.

Awesome.

With that said, Warriors > Grizz.

Well this kind of freaks me out....

Whoa.

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You kids are still in denial.

It is the demand that dictates the price. Resellers are a product of the demand, not vice versa.

The whole "Damn these resellers.." mentality is tired. If you really want to find and attack the real culprits, look in the mirror and punch yourself in the face.

Trend following bitches....

I can't help but laugh sometimes because a lot of you cats are funny-style.

You walk around with that big talk and slick walk, but in actuality your shit is premeditated. There ain't a thing natural about your facade. OC said it best: "your persona's drama that you acquired in high school in acting class".

So what the fuck? Why are you critiqing my fit? What's really good with my shoes? Why are you evaluating my style? Why? Well, it's because you're bitch made. It's official. You spend all your time trying to impress other people with your MTV style. Sad thing is, most people don't care what you're wearing. Like me. You only get the milisecond of acknowledgement I give you as I walk by and laugh at you ice grillin' me like I kicked your mama in the face.

Pathetic. Get up and get out. I don't even know why I waste my energy. You'll learn, hopefully. The embarassment you feel when you finally do learn will be due punishment. Unfortunately, some people never wake up to this realization.

The belief that there are "very few" absolutes in life almost has it right. Unforntunately, there are no absolutes in life. As humans, we are a species that love to be in control. We created housing to keep us from the elements. We created central air and heating to futher control the climate. We created radio and television to control what we hear, see, and ultimately say and think. We love control. We need control. But the fact is that we aren't in control. Not in the slightest.

We go to sleep knowing that the Sun will be up, and that The OC will be on at 8. Look at how we perceive change. Major changes in our lives are seen as "life altering events". But what exactly is being altered? The monotonous doldrums we remain stagnant in for certain periods of time? Shouldn't life be a series of continuous "life altering events"?

But we can't look at it that way or else we'd go crazy. Admitting to that would mean that we really aren't in control of anything. I don't think I'd be able to admit that, myself. Although I wish I could. I wish I could remain ever adaptable to the changes in my life. I wish I could just sit back and see what life has to offer and enjoy everything for what it is, instead of what it could or should be.

I don't know. Could you admit it? Could you admit that everything you see as absolute and true at ever turn really be just a fallacy perpetuated by your ego and your supressed insecurity.

Shit is crazy. My mind is fucked. My world is upside-down. I need an absolute in my life.

Shimmy Shimmy Ya



Word around the way is that Ol' Dirty Bastard himself has passed away today. He was one of the most entertaining emcees of his generation, not to mention owned one of the most unique flows ever on the mic. I took a liking to him when Wu-Tang Clan's "36 Chambers" album dropped. He was so blatantly different than anything I had heard up until that time. Unfortunately, if these rumors are true, his lifestyle has finally caught up to him.

RIP

My Voting Experience

I got up around 8:30. I had to get my voting done ASAP because I have tons of reading to do today. I didn't even brush my teeth. Just threw on some clothes and drove off groggy.



The polling place was actually at my old elementary school by my parent's house since I still use their addy as my "permanent" addy.



There were signs everywhere. Honestly, all you had to do was follow the stench of coffee and white old people. Eventually you'd find the polling room...



Voting is pretty much the exact same experience when you go in the room. You check out the list and make sure they didn't flip the script and move your polling location (like they did to me during the recall election here in California). I don't think I ever get in the right line. I'll stand in line for a few minutes, give them my name, and get told to go to the other line. It's been 3 elections in a row that I've gotten in the wrong line. I have a feeling that next time I should just get in the line I don't think is the right line, and by some sort of reverse karma I'll hop in the right line. Eh, whatever. Voting rocks.



It was a little different, though, in the sense that the voting wasn't done by punching holes through cards with something that you could kill someone with in jail. The form was more like a scantron test, and when you were done you had to insert your ballot into this machine.



The neat thing about the machine was that it told you how many people voted in that same polling place before you. I was number 100 so far.

But when I was finally done, I inserted my ballot and just stood there. The old fat lady stared at me for a minute too. She was like, "uhh, can I help you?"

"Can I get my sticker please?"



Word.

Wierd things happen while working at a sneaker store.

One guy wanted to fight me once because I wouldn't accept a money order he wanted to pay for his shoes with. I told him to meet me outside so I could take my stripes off.

When I got out there, he was gone.

I think working at a shoe store is a life of painful repetition. I mean, I couldn't tell you how many times a customer had asked me for a size and I'd reply "All we have are an 8 and a 12." Without hesitation or any doubt on my part, I could bet that the very next question would be like "How about a 10?"

Then there'd be that same person that would come in every Saturday and ask if you had a particular shoe. After you say "No", he'd reply "Damn, you guys never have anything", which leads me to wonder why the hell he comes every weekend.

One of my biggest peeves would be how people would see that a particular colorway of a shoe was cheaper than another, and demand that they pay the lower price for the more expensive colorway because "they're the same exact shoe". Obviously, they're not because you don't want to buy the cheaper pair.

I mean, I'm sure a lot of us that have worked in these stores that can sympathize with each other. Outsiders will never really know what goes on. You get those calls all the time. You know "those" calls. The ones requesting those "Air Forces", "Adidas with the 3 stripes" (all Adidas have 3 stripes), "White K-Swisses" (90% of K-Swiss brand shoes are white), "The New Jordans" ("Which ones?" ..."The New Ones" ), or "the ones in (insert rapper's name)'s video". If you live in a place with a high concentration of spanish speakers, I know you've gotten the requests for shoes in size "Eight Thirty" or "Twenty Six".

It was a cool job while I had it, I can't lie. I'd have 8 pairs of shoes on hold at all times, waiting for employee appreciation (50% off, yippee!) to roll around or for us to receive another $50 medallion. But there are dumb people out there who do constantly try to get over on you. I know you've been asked "Hey, can I just walk out with these?". Or, "let me get your discount", as if I know them. I remember a particular time where some dude asked me for a "Player Price" and I responded "Ey, dawg. I need to see a player first before I hand out player prices". The funny thing is that HE got mad, not me and told me that he'd never come back to my store again. Oh well, I guess the 45 bucks I made on those Cortez's (dude didn't even get fat laces...jerk) won't be around next month.

There are also those same people who come in ALL THE TIME and never buy anything or just walk around unfolding clothes and walking out of the store. Or the people who doubt you when you say that you don't have a particular shoe, as if you're somehow lying and really don't want the money. I'm sorry, but we get paid peanuts and dust at Foot Locker. I NEED your money. I NEED to sell you something. Why the hell would I lie to you about whether or not we have a pair of shoes?

What made the job tolerable were the "usuals". The families that would always show up and spend a ton of money. The ones that you'd willingly give a code 01 to if they walked in on the right day. They were the most understanding customers on the planet with patience to allow me to help others in the store as well as them. They are the ones who I went the extra mile for because they had something that not many customers have these days: sympathy.

A lot of people hear about these complaints and tell us to man up and deal with it because it's "our job". Fuck you, homie. Shitty jobs are shitty jobs. No one is immune to the shittiness of a job and has every right to vent.

But I'm well past that phase. Honestly, it was fun while it lasted (even though it lasted a little too long), but I'll never work at a shoe store again unless it were one 4 hour shift every pay period just to keep the discount. But that would be for only 2 reasons: to keep the discount, and to dodge as many idiots as possible.

"...I'm so in love with you...whatever you want to do...is alright with me..."



Tally one up for Joseph and Daphne. Many more to come...

How am I feeling?

I'm okay. I mean, I don't walk around moping anymore. At least I don't think I do. Work was a burden earlier this week, but now it's serving as a good distraction from what's been happening. I can actually get a smile out now without noticably forcing one out.

I'm just exhausted. The stress I've gone through this past week coupled with the 2 hour nights of sleep have finally caught up to me. I'm burned out. Not from work or school, but from life. I just need a break. Before, I could momentarily get away by smoking a cigarette. It was a combination of feeling like I was rebelling from myself and the soothing feeling of nicotine in my blood. Then I moved on to alcohol. But it got to the point where I felt as if I was dependent on it. I was drinking every night, even on work nights. I gained a ridiculous amount of weight and began feeling unhealthy, gross, and yucky. And you know how that goes.

But it's not like I'm on the road to some black tar heroin or anything like that. I just need to find better ways to get away. I was thinking about going on vacation and doing something with the family. I also thought about taking vacation and just staying home and doing nothing. Sometimes all it takes is a few days of vegetation with a huge dose of absolutely nothing. Then again, it's cool to have those days once in a while. But an entire week? That's not productive.

But what I really want to do is come home from work everyday and do what I loved to do to get away from everything wrong in my life. I'd cuddle up to wife and hold on to her like I'd never have the opportunity to do so again. When I was in her arms, I could let everything go and know that no matter what, she could hold me in her arms and make everything feel better.

But now, I feel like I have no where to go to feel that way anymore. But I'm not mad. I'll be patient and gut it out. I know that once everything is okay, it'll be worth the wait.

At least I hope so.

Boo hoo. I've been over at Ultrablognetic if you guys even care. Sort through the authors and figure it out, Hardy Boys and Nancy Drews.

"...it saddens me to think that somewhere along the way

I'd change my course. You wouldn't be here today..."

Celebration, bitches!

So yeah. It's my last night working the graveyard. No more 3rd shift for me. I'm free of it, for now at least. It's a great thing, trust me.

So the other night I got really bored. I started mentally counting the pairs of sneakers I owned. A rough estimate of 40 pairs. Now, that may seem like a lot. And quite honestly, I know it's a lot. But the scary thing is that I've really been moderating the amount of shoes I'm purchasing. And on top of that, in the past year I've sold probably 30 pairs on eBay to pay for other more important expenses. I honestly thought I was done with all this, but I guess not. Actually, it was more like HOPED it was gone.

The floodgates are back open. My once dormant addiction has resurrected like a phoenix out of the ashes. What provoked it's ressurection? I have no clue. But it's back.

Someone call my wife. The only thing better than shoes is sex.

My blog pattern is weird. I really don't have one, I guess. I really try to avoid using my blog as as diary. My life is boring relative to that of the normal 24 year old. But it's a definite contrast to the constant chaos that goes on in my head. Now, it's not like I'm living in my own personal hell or anything. It's just that my mind moves at 100 miles per hour and life only goes at the speed limit.

More to come...eventually.

Alex: i mean we didn't get our first real computer until I was in high school
Alex: i can remember handing in papers using a *gasp* typewriter
d0 nn ie ve ga: man, i used a typewriter until 11th grade
d0 nn ie ve ga: seriously
Alex: and you know that's gonna be something that will forever date you. I know it makes me feel like an old man
Alex: i can hear it already
Alex: "What's a typewriter?"
d0 nn ie ve ga: man, i remember i'd run out of ribbon
d0 nn ie ve ga: it'd be 12am
d0 nn ie ve ga: and i'd be FUCKED
Alex: the worst is making a mistake
d0 nn ie ve ga: and sure, the eraser was white
Alex: especially back then i didn't even type with all 10 digits
d0 nn ie ve ga: but you saw EXACTLY what you first typed
Alex: yeah
Alex: EVERYONE knows
Alex: and if you don't have those little white strips, which run out fast
Alex: then you have to pull the whole page out
Alex: use white out
Alex: let it dry
Alex: then put it BACK in
d0 nn ie ve ga: HELL YEAH
Alex: and you KNOW you aren't getting it lined up right
d0 nn ie ve ga: or you'd be searching on the white piece of eraser for a space that would fit a lower case f
Alex: so then the whole rest of the PAGE is off from what you'd typed
Alex: yeah, it's like punching out cookie dough or something
Alex: "I hope I don't mess up on anything more than an I or I'm screwed."
Alex: Mistype a W? man, you better just start over.
Alex: and what if you forget to indent on a new paragraph
Alex: Screw it
Alex: Take the mark down
d0 nn ie ve ga: it's almost unbelievable
Alex: But at least we got to see MJ in his prime
Alex: and listen to hip hop when it was good
Alex: So i guess it's a fair tradeoff
d0 nn ie ve ga: i'm taking everything you wrote and putting it on my blog....i need to remember that later on in life
Alex: and develop imaginations
Alex: When you grandkids ask you what the heck a typewriter was?
d0 nn ie ve ga: lol
d0 nn ie ve ga: yeah
Alex: Yeah, dread that day my friend.

You might remember them. McDonald's Happy Meals circa mid 80's. There were a series of 4 of them. Well, we had them. We had a bunch of them. It was a genius marketing campaign by the good ol' Mickey D's. Come and get a Happy Meal, get a mug. And this isn't your normal glass mug. Not that flimsy plastic shit. This is the real deal. Heavier than a Coke bottle and easier to hold in your hand than a glove. Classic beverage container.

I'd say we had about 6 of them, with doubles of a couple of them. They were cool. One was specifically mine. Another was my older sister's. The ugly one, my younger sister's. They were a part of my family's dining life. Breakfast with milk? Get Garfield on the kayak. Orange juice for lunch? Great! Garfield on the see-saw. Everyday. Every meal. Garfield, yo.

But after a while, the print started fading. I broke one when I accidentally dropped it into the sink. A year later, my younger sister accidentally throws one away. Next thing you know, we're down to one. The images are two-thirds faded. The fun disappeared. I loved those mugs. But I guess we all move on, right?

Then I look on eBay and find out that these things are being resold. I felt as if I met an old friend. Now that folks, is nostalgia. Not these trendy things like thse tin Knight Rider lunch boxes people are buying for 100 bucks. It's not a 200 dollar Skyfire Transformer that you probably won't even take out of it's box. This has *gasp* actual sentimental value.

And I'm going to buy them. When I see these on eBay, I won't even flinch to buy them. Fuck it. After I'm done typing, I'm going to search for them right away. And I'll buy them. And use them. And let my son use them. He may not appreciate these mugs the way I did when I was little, but that's not really the point. There's a sense of carefree innocence I feel when I see and think about these mugs. It's refreshing. Like the smell of freshly cut grass to an old baseball player or the feel of soft ballet shoes to a former ballerina.

Sometimes people say that it's nice to look back on the past, but to stay focused on the future. And truly, I believe that. But I think I'm going to let my guard down and let myself enjoy this one.

I think I deserve it.

That "Next Blog" button at the top right corner of my blog is a blessing and a curse all at the same time.



The Blessing: Hey, I'm bored. I can take a look at a few blogs I've never seen before. Hell, maybe I'll get lucky and get one of those naked women blogs that always seem to keep me busy. Or I might even find a blog that's as entertaining to read as Ultrablognetic or Muscle68 Ahhh, but no one is that lucky.

The Bad: 2 out of every 5 blogs you encounter have less than 2 posts, meaning blogs are multiplying by the second.

The Curse: Got damn some of these blogs are annoying as hell. And I'm not even talking about the writing. Granted, it can be argued by many that my writing is a waste of web space, but damn. Pages with pop-us, javascripts, scrolling text, blinking banners, crosshair cursors, etc. What the fuck? It's like they're attempting to make you forget that your reading someones shitty blog. It's nice knowing that 13 year old girls that look like boys in Singapore have a blog. But damn, I'm risking epileptic seizures just surfing through. To top that off, 2 out of every 5 blogs you encounter have less than 2 posts, meaning blogs are multiplying by the second. That means more are coming in the pipeline and on their way.

But the capper. The toppper. The thing that I really hate. Is....ShIt LyKe DyS. Yo. Kill that shit. Fast. Please. Now. If there is anything in the world that would keep me from reading anything, it is alternating capital and lower case letters. If I was the last man on Earth with a piece of paper saying who killed John F. Kennedy typed in alternating caps, I would die not knowning who killed JFK.


So surfer, beware. There's some crazy shit out there. It'll stun you. It'll surprise you. Some of it might disorient or nauseate you. Take heed. That button on the top right that says "Next Blog" isn't for everybody. Don't say I didn't warn you.

P.S. Yeah, I know. I just pulled some asshole shit right there. But I don't give a damn.

Nancy's awesome.

I know, it's kind of funny talking so highly about another woman that's not my wife or my mom, but our relationship is unique and well worth the mention.

We met in 1st grade. We were in the same class for 3 1/2 years in elementary school. We lived two blocks away, walking the same have home after school. Her and her friends on one side and myself and my sister on the other. We never really talked. I remember her as being the "really quiet girl" in class. I don't even remember her talking or laughing. She was just there. She recalls me as being loud and even louder. I think she's lying because I always thought that I was quiet when I was younger. But hell, given the present result, her story is more believable than mine.

In the middle of our 4th grade year, I ended up moving away to the suburbs. She stayed in the same place. To be quite honest, I never really missed any of my friends or old classmates after I left. I did keep in touch with a couple friends, first through letters, then by phone as I got to junior high and high school. But I never really thought about Nancy.

Well, one day during my senior year of high school while talking to one of the two friends I kept in touch with from my old school, Nancy's name came up. I really didn't much of it except for the fact that I recalled a specific incident where I witnessed her running in an unusual manner across the playground. She was running full speed forward, but her arms were glued to her sides like your typical nutcracker. The laugh I had after that recollection prompted my friend to suggest that I give her a call.

Well, long story not as long, I ended up calling her within the hour. And to my amazement, we had a really good conversation. It wasn't much different than your average "catch up" conversations you have with old friends you haven't seen in years. The thing that made it seem weird was the fact that we never were friends to begin with, but since we shared so many of the same experiences, we were able to carry on so smoothly. But the biggest impression I didn't realize until well after our initial conversation. The conversation was unlike any I've had with a girl at the time. There was no pressure from an attraction standpoint. It was purely platonic and 100% genuine.

I'm sure you can recall your high school phone conversations. Mindless bullshit banter about superficial issues like clothes and gossip. The conversation I had with Nancy wasn't even like that. It had *gasp* actual substance. We really hit it off and we spoke off and on for a while with me even going back down there to see her and hang out.

Later on, I ended up moving out of my parents' house and in turn lost touch with her. We hardly talked at all until literally last year where somehow we got back in touch with each other. I had the opportunity to meet up with her for dinner while waiting to pick up Ryan to land at Oakland Airport. We had a lot to catch up on being that we haven't spoken to each other in a good 5 years.

It was fun. It was refreshing. It felt so good telling her about how I have a son and a wife that I am in love with. It felt good hearing her tell me about her life and what she's been up to. It felt good telling her about the struggles I've been through and what I'm now doing to put my life in order. It felt good hearing about her struggles and her hardships and how she's overcome them one by one. But the best part of our meetings was the realization that we both genuinely cared for and respected one another , regardless of the lack of communication throughout the years. That's something that you don't get to witness with friends you see all the time on a regular basis. It's kind of like the whole "you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone" except different. You don't meet many genuine people throughout your lives. So it's cool to know that a person doesn't mind watching me eat raw oysters while I banter about how being married has changed my life for the best or how my son won't pee in the toilet.

So with that story told, if you ever get to read this, thanks Nancy. We may not speak to each other all the time. I know you're crazy busy. I know I'm crazy busy. But still, thank you for being one of the most genuine people I know. I have nothing but respect an appreciation for what you bring to the table not only to me but for everybody you encounter.

Inspired by Leah's little survey, I've decided to answer a few questions myself. Keep in mind, these aren't your typical 8th-grade-slambook caliber questions that are being answered. This is that good ship lollipop type shit. That relief after your morning pee type shit. That "Inside The Actor's Studio On Crack" shit. So sit back and read it. I guarantee you'll either love it, hate it, or think it's okay.

Name: Joe

Marital Status: Married

Sex: As Often As She'll Give It To me

Jack-off hand: Left

How Often Is It Used?: As Often As She Doesn't Give It To me

Funny Drug Story: I was completely drug free for a good portion of the last three years because I was keeping myself clean while I searched for a job. 2 years pass, I finally get a job, and they don't test me. Now I have extra brain cells I have no idea what to do with.

Not So Funny Drug Story: I have friends that have drug dependencies that probably don't even know it and it disappoints me and scares me all at the same time.

Favorite Alcoholic Drink: Captain Morgan and Coke

Favorite Person To Bother When Drunk: My Wife

Favorite Drunk Question To Ask: "Can You Suck My Dick?"

Least Favorite Drunk Answer To Hear: "No."

Sobering Fact: I have developed a dependency on alcohol to the point where I feel I can't have as much fun doing something if I'm sober as opposed to doing it when I'm drunk.

Random Educational High Note: I won my elementary school geography bee in 6th grade:

Random Educational Low Note: I lost and received 7th place in the spelling bee the same exact year after I misspelled "empty". (E......m.......t.....y.......empty)

Epiphany Of The Century: I am ultimately responsible for how I perceive and react to my environment.

Unnerving Realization Of The Month: A lot of parents aren't teaching their kids shit before they start school, resulting in an overall dumbing down of children because schools are being forced to cater to these dumb ass fucking kids.

Last Song I Slaughtered While Singing In My Car: Boyz II Men - "End Of The Road"

Blatantly Careless Statement of The Day: "Those dudes are assholes."

Greatest Thing On Earth: The fact that all these damn kids are finally back in school and not running aroud outside of my apartment shouting like Chicken Little in a hailstorm with vibrators in their asses 10 minutes past midnight.

Real Talk: Go find a real blog to read.