Think long and hard before renting from a private owner

I moved into my apartment in September. It's a two-family house on a "residential street". I live in an urban area and I love it. There's always salsa and merengue playing, there are lots of kids, and it's accessible to all of the major highways. I took the apartment because it was very cheap, closer to the boyfriend, and I have a dog. The owner, who happens to live in the house next door, is a nice gentleman in his late fifties and my downstairs neighbor is a single woman, also in her fifties. (Of course, I'm now realizing why she lives alone. She's a fucking wretch who has no concept of human interaction.) When I moved in we had a few conversations with them about our lifestyles and it seemed like it would be a dream come fucking true. My dog is wonderful. He's not aggressive at all, but he does enjoy barking. He doesn't bark at night, but during the day with traffic and whatnot, of course. For the past 2 months, the whore has been either leaving me notes taped to my door or telling the owner that he's disturbing her. I leave for work at 7am and I'm home by 6:30pm on average. She is a secretary at a school, so I'm assuming she leaves around 8 and is home around 4. Are you seriously fucking telling me that between 4 and 6 my dog is torturing you? I asked old boy and he said it happens when she's pulling up the driveway. Imagine that. A dog barking at a car in his driveway. So multiply this by 60 days or so. She likes to slam her door in my face also. So I get home from work yesterday and they're just finishing up a conversation. Yippee. He asks me for the hundreth time if I can find somewhere for my dog for a while. NO. I got him from the spca and I'm not putting him anywhere. He's the best dog ever. So then he goes into this whole thing about how they've known each other for a million years and she's been renting from him for ten or so and that she's his priority tenant because I'm not going to be there forever and he made an exception by accepting the dog in the first place and he can't keep getting complaints from her and not do anything. So I asked him why he doesn't see that this is the most ridiculous bullshit ever, and he couldn't answer that question. I either have to find a situation for my dog or hit the skids. I looked in my lease, and there is a part about the terms of the agreement being entirely dependent on his determination about what is a bother and so on. So I've been looking for another arrangement for a few weeks anyway, but nobody wants to rent to you if you have a dog in New Jersey. Or the rents are outrageous. There's an apartment by the boyfriend, but it would be 90 FUCKING MILES! ONE WAY! I don't think I have it in me to do that 5 days a week. I'd be traveling through New York City every day to and from work. I'm not giving up my dog. He was at the shelter for 2 years before I got there. This blows.

ffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuccccckkk

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Uh, No?

I don't claim to lean lef tor right, politically speaking. I'm not a believer in labels when it comes to these things, so I do make a solid effort to look both ways. Having said that, I really don't know what to make of The Huffington Post . I'm all about free speech, but I've always agreed with the opinion that having a microphone in front of your face as a result of celebrity does not automatically entitle you to presenting the convoluted ramblings that escape your embattled psyche to the rest of the world as expert thought. Leave that to us, please. --Stepping off soap box-- Um, so yeah, as I was saying, my personal experience with famous people has helped me to the conclusion that 90% have no concept of the life of the common human. So where, pray tell, do you, Mr/Ms. famous for whatever reason, get the notion that I can relate to anything you say or do? I'm pretty sure that it's been many moons since you did a few loads of laundry at the laundromat, or paid a cell phone bill yourself, or got into an arguement with the evil wretch that hates your dog. It's just another fine example of the better-offs trying to feel "common" by researching trends and trying to "be down". Go shit in your hat.

What I did at work today

Monmouth Message News Brief- Chaplain Dies in Kuwait

I was tasked to be a part of the rifle team to honor the chaplain with three volleys of 7 and Taps. I've never been tasked with this before because it's normally left to males- a tradition that I hold no issue with, as it's always been an infantry type event. Anyway, I was honored and the eight of us practiced at length for the past two days to sound and look good.

I spend a lot of time here at my desk in my bedroom and at work contemplating current events and constructively criticizing our silly government, but taking part in these events reminds me of the love affair I had with the Army until recently. There's so much pride and tradition, and there are many of us who try to hold onto the romance way passed the deadline. If I could participate in funeral honors, color guards and flag details all the time I'd probably still be as naive about the real deal as I was 4 years ago. In the past two weeks 2 Sergeants Major have retired and our company had a change of command, so I've done a lot of standing still and handing bouquets to wives. I always enjoy the songs and honors. I'm a nostalgic old fart. I think I might be my grandpa reincarnated sometimes.

I'm having a very difficult time dedicating am emtry to the past ten years. It's hard to face demons, as well as the fact that I demand total candor in my blog unless it's intentional and there are certain parts of the story that don't coincide with "Sam" of now. I'm such a fucking coward.

**edit**
It's sad. It reminds me of running into an old boyfriend and trying to spark the flame and realizing that you're holding onto a ghost

an epiphan-ette from the other day

bliss, however long it lasts, can never be more than a small bitty thing you put in some corner and take out and roll around in your hand every so often to smile at, like a shiny pebble. It's untarnished and perfect, so there's no point in ruining it with mediocrity and insecurities. the inconceivable opportunities that create smiles and ecstasy are puffball dandelions that you still pick out of the grass at a backyard party and stop, if only for a split second, and smile, maybe sigh. you go through your day-to-day, up and down up and down. And it's deserved, and it's real and lasting, and it isn't stagnant or dreary and you're happy with the complexities and drama because it's like an onion and that's also good. so your little pebble exists within the churning ocean waves and the water and the salt and the sun are your blanket and when the light hits just right, like it always does, that seemingly insignificant moment shines bright for that eternal split second, because that's what it was there for the whole time, and there is nothing that can ever be wrong with that.

Seriously, I will... I don't know when... Soon!

I need to sit and focus and tell you about my decade of combat boots. I said I would for the beef bringers . I always wanted to lay it all out there and put it nice piles anyway, but linear thought is not my forte, mes amis. I definitely will do it. Maybe tomorrow. How shitty is the fucking weather today?! I walk 6 blocks to the train from my palace and about 2 miles to my job from the train, and it managed to drizzle the whole fucking time. Joy. I want to update my list o' blogs I'm digging as well. It'll happen.

The details of my life are quite inconsequential.

Very well, where should I begin?
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims, like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. A sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical.
Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. If I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds.
Pretty standard, really.

through the looking glass

The more blogs I read, the more I want to read. Other than those closest to my heart in real life, there have never been too many people i've related to. I want to thank anyone I've ever commented to on their blog for making me feel less alone in my random neurotic ramblings. Anti (John?) , the detox (Angelina?) , tanky, paxgitmo, true, little spanish eddie (James?) , and those are just from today. I'll html it later, but more importantly, now, here's to you.

it isn't always bad

The setting sun reminds me of how much it needs the grass to validate itself. I notice the reds above the rest as the sunlight dips behind the clouds and also the horizon. I had to keep looking so of course I found green, but the blues soften in dusk, as blues tend to. The water reflects silver from the sky and clouds that play against the window I look through, quite literally. I changed into myself on the way home like I used to on the Bx 8 when I didn't want roll a blunt in my uniform after school. I fit in and stand out. Notice me but not really. Sense my mystery but not my nature. I've always enjoyed the train ride home.

Six Things I Like

Because it would do everyone good to like these things as well.


lopsided head stick figure drawings

Shel Siverstein

Yeungling Beer

Aqua Teen Hunger Force

Blogs

Monty Python

music

I love music. Good music doesn't pull you to it, good music comes into you, like it was always there, a track in your life's movie. When I left for a desert vacation a lifetime ago, I needed to bring my music with me, so I burned 25 cd's of my "favorite" songs from a collection of about 700 cd's at the time. A good song stops time.

hmm, let's see

My dog and Monica's cat are retarded. If anyone can explain why he insists on nibbling her neck and pinning her to the floor- why she lets him?, please let me know.

the seatbelt light is on, we will be landing in a moment

So I'm trying not to smirk, but it's nice to win the war of insanity, let me tell you. I'm in a bit of a holding pattern, but that's ok. I will bear witness, trust me. A few more months of mediocrity and then prepare for the deluge. Or perhaps not quite so spectacular. Either way, dawn awaits.

a blog about a sandwich

I had a banging sandwich today. Elsie's Subs, 74 Monmouth Street, Red Bank, NJ 07701. A "hot shot". Salami, pepperoni, cappicola, provolone, lettuce, tomato, onion, salt, pepper, hot peppers, oil and vinegar on a hero. That was the highlight of my day. I am a wild son of a bitch.

no title today

I've observed in the later part of my three decades here, that I am fortunate to have experienced grief. Damn skippy.

Grief depression ecstasy indifference desolation bliss fury

The pivot points of my life are based on emotional breakthroughs. I lost one of my very best friends and went on a three year bender. I fell madly in love and temporarily lost my mind. I gave up control finally and quieted my mind. I often joke that people who don't experience loss, don't have conflicts, those are the ones in the clock tower with the pump-action. In that proud ignorance I held myself to an unrealistic and false level of enlightenment. I live at a heightened level of stress, praising myself for being so witty and cynical, so well informed, and all the while I haven't the slightest clue of true strife. Living every day like it's me against the idiots and I'm holding it all together and then I hit a speedbump. Now I have REAL LIFE RIGHT HERE IN MY FUCKING FACE. It's going to be alright, but I'm such an overreactor. I'm torturing Mike with so many irrational thoughts and anxiety, I'm annoying myself. I hate not being the boss of me.
On the hand, maybe I just need to refocus my lens. Hello world.

the rhythm of her beating heart was the only indication

I find myself identifying with songs in ways that don't coincide with the lyrics. U2 "Sometimes You Can't Make it On Your Own" is that song for me right now. I was a long time fan and then it faded when the political undertones became less subtle, but this song is just perfectly haunting and melancholy for my mood.

I'm going through a thing right now. I've been in the Army, active duty, since November 9, 1996. I was in the Reserve before that from November 22, 1994. I was 17. I went from Catholic School in the Bronx to renting my own apartment, married in Hinesville, Georgia in less than 2 years. I've been to a few handfuls of countries. Fucked, drank, and sang all over the world.

I've always been unique. Always a little drowsy. I've fallen asleep walking, talking, eating, driving, and of course, fucking. I have extremely vivid dreams. I lurch awake sometimes, confused. I have to ask my sister if we had a particular conversation because I'd swear it happened.

I went to the doctor. I've put on a bit of weight this year. I had a little depressed period. I thought some blood work would tell me what was awry.
"You should get a sleep study to see if you have apnea."

No apnea.

"Practice better sleep hygiene." "Stop being so lazy." "Drink more coffee. "

New doctor

"Go get a sleep study and a slep latency test."

Holy fuck you have narcolepsy.

"OK, here's what we're gonna do. You can't drive for at least the next month because now we know you might nod off and here's some medication that makes you feel like you want to puke all day. Have fun. And, oh by the way, you can't stay in the military because alertness is mildly important."

The neat thing, however, is the concept of a fresh start. I have to try to remember what I wanted to do/ be 10 years ago.
Of course the boyfriend has been exceptional. He's a miracle. Outstanding in the sack as well. Ridiculous, isn't it?

Today unlike no other

This day is new. I'm the same as I was yesterday, and yet different because now I'm defined by a label. My doctor (one of the few wonderful military doctors) validated my instincts. I've always had waking issues, as opposed to sleeping issues. I got to stay at a great hospital a few weeks ago and now I am narcoleptic.
Holy shit right?
Is, Hun, am I your first? Please say yes. :)
The timing was fucking impeccable. I'm not allowed to drive (although I am), and I'm awaiting the verdict on my employment status. They'll take care of me, so I'm not too worried, however my malicious, devil's harem of a command couldn't give a shit, the fuckers.
I'm so very melodramatic. However, the boyfriend- amazing. Absogoddamlutely afuckingmazing. Now all I have to worry about is paying my bills. Good times.

New commenting

I just installed haloscan commenting, but it didn't fucking warn me that the old comments would be deleted. Bastards. I like reading comments. That's why they're there.

Who said honesty was the best policy is a naive idiot :)

I was reading the New York Postthis afternoon and this was brought to my attention in the style section. I don't even know how to explain the rash of giggling that began. Haute indeed.


Also, I try to eat with health in mind so I frequent s few local organic groceries. I've noticed an alarming trend of the direct relation of "trendy macrobiotic/vegan/ raw foodist" to the increasing girth of their vehicle. I thought all the wackadoo greenies were supposed to be environmentally conscious as well. I guess you can maintain your social status only if you ride in an BMW X5 at the same time. I'm dabbling in the veg world myself but I'm not ridding myself of leather shoes anytime soon. Call me a heathen.

my indentured servitude

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