Turdsday Thoughts


My mother works at a restaurant and sometimes brings home discarded bits of New York steak for me or the dog. Lately, it’s been for the dog. I was delighted that the frozen beef gave me an excuse to use my tools. Maybe there is something to guys being wired to like tools.

Sometimes I’m not sure if I own the dog or if it’s the other way around. I have to wipe its paws, pick up the mess from her random dumps around the house and all the rest. It’s like having a 2 year old or a mentally challenged person except posting pictures of food all over my mentally challenged kid’s face would be frowned upon.


Spoiled dog gets premium cuts of beef and the whole couch

The highlight of the day was this thing….


My stumpy cousin brought this over because his new place isn’t roomy enough for this spaceship. It’s slightly frightening when it does its thing because it makes me wonder what’s stopping it from crushing me like it would in some cheesy horror movie. I did an internet search for “massage chair death” and nothing alarming came up besides a 4-year-old who had his head crushed by one and a middle-aged woman who jumped to her death inside a shopping mall, hitting a guy sitting in a massage chair before she hit the floor. Even if it doesn’t decide to crush me I’m sure it can possibly malfunction while leaving me shackled in there like an electric chair.

It’s an upgrade from my old setup which was a folding patio lounge chair with a pillow. It also reclines to an almost horizontal position so I may not be doing much today.


Random Wednesday Bits

I have an orientation tonight at 6 PM which is why I am at a library near there right now…I don’t want to hang out in rush hour traffic from where I live. It seems that 4 PM is about the time that internet speeds significantly slow down wherever you are. My guess is that all the kids are home from school sneaking in their porn intake before their parents get home from work. I don’t know how as a parent you can block out the thought that your kid was watching hardcore pornography just 1 minute before you walked in the door. The birds and the bees conversation is a breeze compared to any pornography etiquette conversation that exists. They will make instructional videos one day. You heard this first on here.

This morning I picked up a cake for a potluck that was going on with fellow volunteers. When I got in my car and drove off, I apparently turned into a lane that was one way but not my way. I didn’t realize this until I got to the end when I couldn’t turn left and turning right was awkward. A young Asian woman in a Lexus turned in and decided to stop beside me, put her window down to mouth some words to me while my window was up. If I had to guess she was saying, “you fucking idiot, it’s only one way, didn’t you see the sign? Oh my god” To that imaginary dialogue, I said, “no, of course not, otherwise I wouldn’t have drove in this way you fucking whore.” As curious as I was to what she was saying, I didn’t want to find out otherwise I might have done something stupid like call her a “fucking whore.”

It’s possible though that she put her window down because she was concerned and wanted to warn me of the possible consequences of my actions. What a boring story that would make. Who knows. I’ll have to go back to check out the “no left turn” sign because I’m assuming there is one.

This potluck taught me that food from a bunch of non-professional chefs is nothing to die for. It was comparable to a low grade buffet. Most of the items tasted like people’s first round experiments. I hope none of them ever read this.

After the potluck I dropped off some desserts to an old woman who was volunteering somewhere else and couldn’t make it to the potluck. We were talking about Sundays and then I guess she found it to be a good segue to bring up church. I had to stand there for 5 minutes while she preached. She talked about how we were designed to have the power of choice which meant their must be a higher power that created us otherwise we would be created as robots. I replied, “I wish I was a robot.” Terminator was pretty rad. It wasn’t so bad to listen to the short sermon but “I had to get going.”

My thought while driving away was that the higher power created us to be able to make choices so that he/she/it could sit there and laugh at our follies for their own entertainment. How boring would this show be if we were pre-programmed robots? Instead, he/she/it is sitting there with heavenly buttered popcorn watching all 7 billion of us and thinking, “hahaha, look at this moron!.”

I never thought of blogging as something to do between tasks while I’m out but I like the idea. I guess I’m thankful that I enjoy writing. It satisfies the artist in me and it’s free.



Yesterday…Bad Title, Sorry

Woke up at 8 AM yesterday to get to my volunteer gig to do various shopping duties for seniors. Came home at noon, ate lunch and the hairstylist came by to cut my hair. Shortly after I went to the post office to drop off a DVD that I sold on eBay. I made about $8! Too bad the DVD costed me $15. I’m just trying to get rid of stuff that is sitting around.

As I was driving home I realized it was Tuesday which meant cheap movie day. Ample time, 2:30 PM, so I decided to check it out. “The Revenant” was playing at 3:05. Sure, why not? Come showtime, I counted 17 people including myself. Everyone sat in the middle section while I sat off to the side. No one in front, behind or in my row of 3 seats. The movie was pretty good but Leo should have died from the bear attack or hypothermia when he went into the river. You can get a sense though when it’s not possible for him to die because he wouldn’t have any chance of winning an Oscar without passing the halfway mark of the movie. Plus he’s too expensive to kill off that soon.

I felt slight joy when I didn’t walk out to darkness as I expected. At 5:45 PM a smidgen of blue sky was present, indicating longer daylight hours are on their way. The short drive home was pleasant for reasons unknown. Music is much better when you’re in a good mood.

I came home to an excited dog that I let out in case it excitedly or submissively urinates like it often does. Clothes went in the washer, floors vacuumed and mop. Finished off the last couple episodes of “Making a Murderer” which made me conclude that you do not want your life decided by 12 strangers sitting in a room together where no one wants to deal with the pressures of being on the side of the minority opinion. High school mentality never ends.

The verdict is that Tuesday was a good day. This blog post is adjourned.

Praying to Jesus

The old guy I am in communication with makes plans to have me over for dinner at his place on a semi-regular basis but 9 times out of 10 he ends up cancelling because he doesn’t feel well enough on the day of. Never having any solutions or any that he is willing to try, I kindly offered to pray for him. He was all for it. I then asked him if he would like me to pray to Jesus or Allah. He said either one would do but he preferred Jesus.

I was joking with him but I had 10 minutes to spare between the end of the phone call and the time that the guy from Craigslist was going to come by so I thought, why not? The placebo effect has been proven to work so I figure the belief in prayer can possibly be just as effective.

I closed my eyes, put my hands together and silently made-up a prayer. Being a worrisome person, I thought maybe I had to say it out loud for the prayer to have any chance to penetrate the atmosphere and make it through to heaven. So I did it again and ended it with an, “amen.”

A thought occurred to me that my prayer may have gone to the holy trash bin because I don’t think Jesus ever learned English. English was not even a language back in his day. Even if he had learned the first version of the English language he still wouldn’t be able to understand my English.

The argument would be that Jesus knows everything so it wouldn’t matter anyway. If that’s true could I just make up my own language and he would understand that as well? If Jesus is on a first-prayer, first-answered kind of thing then it’s going to be a while until he gets to mine.  We’ll see what happens.



Living With My Mother

It’s been about 2 months since I’ve moved into my mother’s place. Some may wonder if I’m planning to live with her for the rest of my life. To that I say, no, but maybe for the rest of her life. I haven’t lived with my mother for 10 years but not because I wanted independence so badly but because location wise it was inconvenient. Also, when I first told her I was moving out temporarily she saw that as an opportunity to rent out my room. With a cross-dresser living in my room waltzing around in his French maid getup, it made moving back not an option. The first time I had met him he was eating a sausage with no bun.

In terms of my mother’s schedule, it wasn’t much different than it is now. She’s out the door at 9 AM and doesn’t come home until after 11 PM for 6 days of the week. Yep, 14 hours working at a restaurant like she’s been doing for the last 40 years. When I was a kid I would be gone to school before she woke and asleep before she came home. Now that I don’t have a mandated bedtime, I see her for 15 minutes before I go to bed. If I wanted to I could have cocaine and hooker parties from 11 AM to 11 PM.

Instead of parties though, if I’m not volunteering I’m cleaning and making improvements to the home like the good stay-at-home-son that I am. There’s also other duties that I tend to such as automobile, technology and English comprehension needs. I get the sense that she likes me being here and I think the dog feels the same way too.


Spoiled Dog



36-Year-Old Paperboy

You’ll always hear on TV how people are pissed off about not having steady full-time work available in their area. “We want jobs!” I’ve always been quite the opposite. My gripe has always been about the lack of part-time opportunities. A lot of places have part-time available but what that usually means is that you are part-time status with full-time availability without the advantages of a full-time employee. They want to stick it in you and have you clean it up too.

Periodically I will go on Craigslist to see if there are any desirable job opportunities that are not full-time. There’s not a lot out there when you don’t have any skilled training. My future might entail me jerking off in front of a webcam for perverted old white men who have a thing for naturally hairless chests.

One job that is always available is newspaper delivery which is really low on the social ladder for a 36-year-old adult who was born in Canada. If it wasn’t early mornings I would consider it given the advantages. It’s only a couple hours a day, 5 days a week, no supervisor and it pays around $400-800 a month. No matter how shitty I would feel at the beginning of the day, I know it will be over in a couple hours.

The other day I got a random call from a person I haven’t spoken to for a long time. She got a job at the Casino recently and told me they will be hiring for Slot Attendants soon. It’s not a bad gig given the tips but I’ll have to be there 10 hours a day for 3 days a week cashing out old people gambling away their kids inheritance. Plus I have to care about my appearance. I can’t just pop on a hat and a dirty uniform like I used to. I’ll have to shower and stuff, wear some button shirt with a collar and black shoes. Wah, wah, wah.

A 36-year-old paperboy who lives with his mother. I’m a modern day gladiator!

Like a Kid Again

People often agree that the childhood years were the most blissful times of their lives. I guess sort of the equivalent to a pig in shit. Once at a certain age we decide that life is gone and can never exist again as we become adults with bills and responsibilities.

Lately, I have been coming closer to the mind-space reminiscent of my childhood life and it has nothing to do with my mother tucking me in at night. To say as a kid you had no responsibilities or worries is far from the truth. You still had to at least go to school, do homework and worry about getting in trouble from the adults. What you didn’t worry about though was your future.

The future, if never confidently on track becomes a plague with no definite cure. You’re haunted by its mystery but also by the presumed certainty that if its not unraveled it will destroy you.

As a kid you also didn’t have much opportunity to mess up so badly that you sentence yourself to a life of gruelling commitments. “Legal age” can often mean you and the world have full permission to screw your life up.

At this point in my life, I don’t have that feeling like I always did that I had to secure some kind of permanent societal standard. The fear of being a “loser” washed away with the tide of people that I sailed away from. Maybe it’s to my advantage that the fear of being alone just isn’t that scary to me.

In short, it’s our expectations and what we think is expected of us that often run our lives.