Archive for March, 2014

Dry Nostrils And Bad Hips

March 28th, 2014

It’s a March night, quarter to ten p.m. in the evening. Kentucky is playing Louisville in the Sweet 16 basketball game. Grandpa is in his chair next to me, resting with his oxygen tank on. A tube going into his nostrils. The game is on and he looks at the screen occasionally while trying to sleep.


Today has been a horrorshow for my grandpa, which is bad because the day before was fantastic. He needed to go to Evansville to get a hearing test. He needs a new hearing aid (believe me) and he had to go to the VA hospital to do the checkup. This necessitated doing driving over an hour to Evansville.


My grandfather is not someone who can get comfortable easy. He gets dizzy if he keeps his eyes open while riding as a passenger. His knees and hips aches from eighty-three years of life and work. He needed a wheelchair to get around the VA clinic because it’s so big for him to walk. He needs an oxygen supply when he sleeps, although it dries his nostrils. He can’t go out to eat because of the medication he takes. He can’t see very well at all. He has a chest full of medicine boxes that he has to keep track of.


When we went to Evansville, Grandpa was looking forward to one thing: a Wendy’s cheeseburger. It was all we talked about for two days before the trip. He doesn’t get to eat what he wants because of his diet. So a cheeseburger, especially after a long difficult trip, really made his day. Thursday was such a great day. It reminded me of the days when I was a kid and he would drive me to Owensboro on Sundays. So everything got turned around. I drove him for a change.


Evansville has changed so much since Grandpa was there. He worked there for four years but it’s been so long, even he couldn’t remember. I love him so much. I wish I could make him comfortable whenever he needed it.



March 25th, 2014

In less than two hours, it will be March 26th, which will mark my 36th birthday.




I don’t want to be thirty-six years old. Fuck me running. Do you know what thirty-six means? I am middle aged. Ugh.


If the average man lives to be seventy-five years old, then thirty-six is close enough to jazz. Why is this happening?


I have not been sending birthday wishes to my Facebook friends because they remind me of my own birthday. I don’t want to be middle-aged. I don’t want to get older. I don’t want to be old.


Perhaps I’m vain and narcissistic but who wants to be old. I mean I was thirty-five years old and technically middle aged last March 26th. But thirty-six? Impossible.


Watch this website March 25th next year for a post titled “37”.

Music Of My Mind

March 18th, 2014

I am trying to write from a positive place today. I am finding it difficult. It is far easy and seems way more sensible to dwell on the negativity on my own mind. Let there be no mistake, my mind is filled with negative thoughts. Sometimes you hear something so many times that you begin to think it is true. Whether it is something like you berating yourself for mistakes and (supposed) incompetency or whether it is people on Twitter claiming Miley Cyrus is hot, if you start to hear things over and over and over again they start to ring true whether they are or not.


I am filled with bad thoughts about myself. I have to try to combat the bad thoughts with good thoughts. I have to occupy myself and find things to do so I don’t end up in a hate frenzy in the middle of the night.


When I was a little boy, I would imagine what it would be like to have circuits in my brain. Or a motherboard instead of a brain. Then I entered junior high and started feeling like I was the only real person I knew and everyone and everything I saw was an illusion, like a pre-Matrix sort of philosophy. I got out of that at some point, thankfully. I still have the hard wiring of self-hatred and low self-esteem.


Life was a nightmare back then. Life is more tolerable now because many of the things I really wanted I have no and I rarely have to deal with people.


People hurt your feelings your whole life and you do your best to keep a still upper lip and try to avoid any drama. Then one day it becomes unavoidable and you finally let them have it and tell them what for but they can’t believe where this is coming from and all of a sudden you’re the asshole instead of them.


I tried to write from a positive place when this started, I swear.

I Went To Montana Grille

March 16th, 2014

Forgive me for my lack of recent posts, but I have had nothing to tell you. Sometimes people have thoughts that are too complicated to tweet or even blog about.


If it weren’t for a hostess at Montana Grille in Bowling Green, perhaps my current disposition would be better. As it is, I can’t too.


You see that sentence I just wrote: “As it is, I can’t too”? I blame that on Montana Grille.


not to be confused with Ted's Montana Grill

not to be confused with Ted’s Montana Grill


Have you ever been to Montana Grille? It’s supposed to be rustic. Heavy wooden decor. I am totally discombulated by their rustic wood-heavy Montana cabin decor in the middle of the busiest street in Bowling Green, Kentucky. Sexual dormant.


They put our party in the side-car next to a family reunion party. It had to be a family reunion. There were over two dozen of them and they were the loudest people in the side-car. My party of three did NOT get to enjoy our dinner because of the CONSTANT. YELLING. AND HIGH-VOLUMED. FRIVOLITY. AHHHHH.


My friends and I were reduced to being living furniture. Sex and drugs and diabetes. I do not want to go back to Montana Grille. The side-car is all steely like Dan and you feel like you’re eating in an airplane hanger. Also you can’t have sex. I ate some cooking. It was fine.


I’m sorry about everything I said. I can’t concentrate anymore. Life is a disastrous time. Whoo-hoo. Cocks and balls and mayonnaise in the back of a heated car.


I ate thai chicken with sweet and sour sauce. For a side, I got mashed potatoes. It was just fine. I had no complaints. I tried to avoid getting a berger because who wants a berger all the time. Mary had a pot pie and seemed to like it. Jon asked for Chilean sea bass and fuck if they didn’t have it so he had to change his order to trout. I don’t know how the trout was or if it killed him or not. I should call Jon to make sure the trout didn’t hurt him.


Try getting a Chilean sea bass during Lent. Whoo-hoo. YOU CANNOT GO TO A WHITE MAN’S RESTAURANT IN BOWLING GREEN WITHOUT HEARING AN EAGLES SONG. You must eat ethnic to avoid the Eagles’ and their very white music in Bowling Green.


Eagles song played over the speakers while we were at Montana Grille: “One Of These Nights”.


DO YOU HATE ALL CAPS? SO DO I. NOW IMAGINE TWO DOZEN YAHOOS TREATING THE SIDECAR LIKE THEIR PERSONAL SHIT SPACE. Their entire existence was all-caps. It’s like some of them were terminally ill and they were having one last get together to raise some hell before crawling into bed at 9:30 pm. Damn you, God.


Any Irish gastro-pub that has less than 1.5 Van Morrison albums on the jukebox isn’t really Irish. (unrelated)


In summary: Montana Grille can eat a plate of racial prejudice.


A New Dream

March 5th, 2014

I used to want to be a rock ‘n roll star. Now I want to be a contestant on Wheel of Fortune.


I have watched a lot of Wheel with my grandfather. My grandfather really enjoys the puzzles and trying to guess them. I’m pretty good at giving him help. To be fair, I don’t really watch the show. I just sit in the chair next to Grandpa and look at my computer while he watches the show and sometimes he yells at me wondering what the answer is.


I would like to be a contestant so I can go through the last bit where it’s just me and I pick three vowels and a consonant for the really big prize. Just so I could have him there in the audience. He’d really enjoy that. He can’t travel anymore. He’s eighty-two and his bones ache and it’s hard for him to sit too long and he takes a lot of medicine. Still I bet he would be so proud of me. His boy standing there with a chance to win $50,000 and a new car. Pat Sajak always has the finalist introduce their folks in the crowd. You never see a loner winner.


I would not be an exception. It’s my dream to make him proud.