tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45705765295117638542024-02-23T04:33:22.552-05:00Ignorant and Arrogant: Ramblings of a Short-Souled BastardLate Night Displays of Arrogance and [mostly] Ignorance.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-66307628325995637552014-05-02T20:43:00.002-04:002014-05-06T03:02:44.679-04:00I'm nothing, if not a failure.<h2>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I am a father.</span></b></span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was 12 years old when I decided I wanted to be
a father. I knew then that I wanted to be a dad, wanted to raise a little me, and
wanted to dedicate my life to giving everything I never had to someone that was
a part of me that no one else could ever be. I wanted to be a parent more than
I wanted anything else at the age of 12, and after years of patience, it
finally happened. Xekan arrived!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was 27 when my son was born, and it was
everything I ever wanted and more. I fucking love being a parent. Raising my son
is the best part of my life, and what I am most proud of. I can't even begin to
express just how much I love being a father, and watching my son grow into this
amazing person that I helped to create. It's fucking amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Being a parent is what wakes me up in the
morning and pushes me to accomplish things I never wanted to accomplish at any
other time in my life. Like most parents, I find myself talking about my son
and being a father more often than not. Given the chance, I will annoy the shit
out of anyone with stories about how insanely wonderful Xekan is and how much I
love being his father. I love my son and I am so proud of him and proud that I
get the honor and privilege of being such a large part of his life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHCQ82sgub4SfLEl5RS_y-OtjLXPyH_YyPtBSX7zozKBuR_8PbEQKSchTER9lALnjthaE4HanofydtYy-wm0fVhCdnvktBkRu5TtIB_vhoFdWeMKyIwbhK2nuroiQ8zNcA-sLKp5uyZUZ/s1600/270906_3847182134827_1838385944_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHCQ82sgub4SfLEl5RS_y-OtjLXPyH_YyPtBSX7zozKBuR_8PbEQKSchTER9lALnjthaE4HanofydtYy-wm0fVhCdnvktBkRu5TtIB_vhoFdWeMKyIwbhK2nuroiQ8zNcA-sLKp5uyZUZ/s1600/270906_3847182134827_1838385944_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tubs have the best acoustics.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's also a calm gamer.</td></tr>
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<h2>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Why would I want to be anything else?</span></b></span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There's more, though. Something I haven't
mentioned yet, and something that I think too many parents are forgetting,
especially mothers. You see, I'm not just a parent. It's true, and I know it
can be hard to believe at times, but there is a lot more to me than just being
a father. I wasn't born a dad, nor inducted into fatherhood at an early age. I
was a lot of things before becoming a father. In fact, I am still a great deal
more than just a father. Being a parent is an honor that I hold, and one that I
cherish above all others, but it isn't my identity. I happen to be a writer,
albeit a very poor and unpublished writer, but a writer nonetheless. I'm also a
dreamer, a wannabe artist, a crappy musician, a friend, an IT dude, an atheist,
a skeptic, a survivor, a lover, a joker, a white knight, an asshole, a bad
poet, a podcast addict, a Whovian, a back porch philosopher, a psychology
enthusiast, a brother, an uncle, and so so so many more things. Not one of
which is vast enough to encompass me. I don't think anyone can be put into such
a bubble, yet I see people placing themselves into these molds far too often.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Everyone knows that one parent that lost all
sense of self the moment their child was born, and they became a parent and
only a parent, right? No. No, that's wrong. Let me rephrase. Everyone knows a
few groups of parents that lost all sense of self the moment their children
were born, and they became parents and only parents, right? Yes, of course you
do. They tend to find one another and treat parenthood as some kind of
exclusive club that only an elite few are allowed membership to. It’s kind of
creepy. Not staring too long on the bus creepy, but Stepford Wives creepy. That
creepy that makes you think you're one glass of chardonnay away from being a
matching set of diaper bags for a small group of enthusiastic parents.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How'd these people come to be this way? Any
guess you make is probably going to hold true to someone. Some may have given
up everything because of an obsession with parenting that might have been
triggered by all of the books they read during pregnancy, others may have taken
on the parental identity as a way of coping with an unplanned pregnancy that
caused them to give up a lifestyle they were not ready to give up yet, or
perhaps they had a parent or parents that made parenting their sole identity
instilling in them ideals that led them to grow up only dreaming of being a
parent. It could be their way of coping with financial struggles that keep them
from doing anything else, or because they feel guilty or selfish any time they
do anything that is not for their child. Perhaps they're just afraid of failing
in front of their children and being seen as weak or less than perfect. Maybe it
is a conscious thing, maybe it isn't - truth is it doesn't really matter.
Whatever the reason, they are no longer any of the things that they were before
their child was born, nor are they interested in becoming any of the things
they wanted to be before becoming a parent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is more than just creepy, though. Being a
parent should not be our sole identity, because we are not the sum of our
children. What kind of example does that even set for them? Children tend to
want to grow up to be like their parents. Qualities like passion develop from
seeing it in action. Inspiration, magic, reverence, awe - these are things you
cannot tell someone to feel. Children see mommy painting in her free time, and
they want to become an artist. Maybe they only want that for a moment or two,
but that little inspiration they get from watching their mother paint will give
them an appreciation for art that they would never get from having that same
mother buy them art supplies and just try to teach them to do those things. The
real inspiration doesn't just come from painting with her; but from watching
her creating her own art, on her own accord, because she loves it and is
passionate about it. It’s in seeing her face light up as she shows them her
latest creation or is suddenly struck with inspiration for her next piece. Same
goes with kids watching dad play his guitar after dinner on the weekends,
because he loves to play. It gives an appreciation that one doesn't get from
being forced into music lessons by parents that do not seem to have any
interest in playing themselves. Even the grandparent with the incredible
collection of books that they are always reading and adding to, that instills
into the child the importance of reading and learning. It all matters. You've
got to be more for your children than just a parent. You have to set examples
for everything that made you who you are. You can't just tell them what to do
and expect feeding them and loving them will be enough. They not only need to
know who you are, but they <i>deserve</i> to
know who you are. You are their parent, and who you are matters to them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">It is your responsibility to show them how to be
passionate. Passionate about anything, everything, something! You have to
inspire, experiment, and encourage by enjoying the things you love as well as
finding new things to love and enjoy as you continue to grow as a person. How
else can you introduce them to these things and expect them to hear the beauty
in a painting, feel the emotion in a song, and smell the history and
imagination in an old book? They need your example.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK54J-82Od50cLYRSC4jy08jUjnowbJBk9oxnUXlG-1NsQcOqV6UrBpcP9UCSnCDGzV6xNVJ8rY4vVn5jyD-j3Vto8QdE6sMYQFhOp2UKOHKJvE25VnspeAeHrUi-x8y1L_3Hxf4sdjeo-/s1600/970847_10201439622981233_376721521_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK54J-82Od50cLYRSC4jy08jUjnowbJBk9oxnUXlG-1NsQcOqV6UrBpcP9UCSnCDGzV6xNVJ8rY4vVn5jyD-j3Vto8QdE6sMYQFhOp2UKOHKJvE25VnspeAeHrUi-x8y1L_3Hxf4sdjeo-/s1600/970847_10201439622981233_376721521_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddies are the best swing stabilizers.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<h2>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There once was a man from Nantucket...</span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I feel very passionately about this issue. I'm
unsettled by the idea of losing one’s self when becoming a parent, and I think
I should give a little background and explanation as to why it is so important to me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I grew up in a home with my grandfather and 4
generations of women in a tiny trailer in rural West Georgia. Mother, sister,
grandmother, and aunt. My father wasn't around much, but my grandfather was,
and he worked his ass off to support us all. The adults worked so much that
most of their free time was spent sleeping or watching television while the
kids stayed outside until it was time to eat or go to sleep. There was no
energy for anything else. No one encouraged me to read for fun (I was 20 the
first time I read a book for pleasure), even though my grandmother was a bit of
a Grammar Nazi that I caught reading trashy romance novels a time or two. No
one pushed me to play music, even though my father is a pretty good guitar
player, and my mother I'm told was a pretty good drummer (apparently
skateboarder and marksman are also part of her childhood resume that my sister
and I never witnessed). I was never encouraged to pursue art, either, even though one night my grandfather let it slip that he'd enjoyed art as a child. It was never mentioned before, or after, but that one evening I had a
sketch pad out and he saw me trying to draw a face and became very excited
about it. He sat down with me, and he showed me how to draw an eye that didn't
look like it belonged on a Simpson's character. He talked about how he loved to
draw and paint as a kid; but I'd never seen him do anything outside of working
on cars, computers, and electronics other than fishing when he had even an hour
of free time (though we did watch quite a few westerns and a lot of Doctor Who
when the ladies allowed us control of the TV). Other than that eye, I've still
never seen anything he's created.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The thing is, I never got any kind of
encouragement like that, and while I don't fault any of them for it, I’m very
bothered by it. Bitter, even. My sister is a year and a half my junior and my
aunt only five years my senior - I don't think they got the encouragement either.
Sure, we were told to join band or play a sport, but I don't remember anyone
ever asking me to play them anything I learned on a drum, and most of the time
the sports just seemed like forced social activities that was more for them
being out doing something than actually seeing us play - which I can hardly
blame them for wanting. Like I said, I don't fault them for it at all. Life
wasn't easy, and we were always struggling, so who had the time to do the
things that they loved?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never got the feeling that my mother and
father ever wanted to be parents, or that they ever truly enjoyed it. My
grandparents did, in their own little way, though. The kind of people that complain about the things they're doing, but obviously love doing (my grandmother especially). They are the ones that
mostly raised me and my sister, and they loved their roles. Or, at the very least took pride in them. My grandma was a
stay at home grandma that kept the home as clean as one can with 6 people in a
tiny 3 bedroom trailer on a dirt road. At least until I was about 14 and she
decided to work somewhere other than home (she was a babysitter for more than
just my sister and me). She became a lunch lady, and she was so much happier
doing that than she was at home with children. My grandfather worked from
morning to night repairing everything from TVs, computers, and cars to every
last thing around the house he could possibly repair. He took care of everyone
and was often the only voice of reason in our home. My mother also worked,
mostly for a credit office, but looking back that seemed to be as far as her parental duties could go. With an hour and a half commute each way, she was
rarely home before bedtime, and never in time for dinner. So my grandparents did
most of the major parenting, my grandfather working harder than anyone to
support and teach us about responsibility. He seemed to be the most concerned about our character. He is the kind of person that people
respect because they want to, not because they feel they have to. Even animals
respect him like a strange pied piper, and he’s the primary reason becoming a
father seemed so wonderful to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After my son was born, I thought about all of
those things that kids on TV did that I never got pushed to do - piano lessons,
martial arts classes, art classes outside of normal school, etc. I wanted (and
still do!) Xekan to have it all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Shortly after Xekan was born I started noticing
patterns. I noticed that the occasional reading my grandmother did drastically
increased after all the kids were out of the house. I looked at my grandfather,
who had just finished breaking and repairing everything that my grandma would
let him break and repair since his retirement, and found that he had taught
himself to play guitar and banjo. He's in his 70s and taught himself two new
instruments that I had never seen him play at any other time in my life. Not
only that, but he bought a couple DSLRs and had taken up photography using
online courses that he downloaded and still studies all the time. He was
ordering brochures for culinary school, bought a quad to ride around his
property, and just started doing all of the things he'd always wanted to do. He
and my grandma now take random trips to places they loved when they were
younger and they have so much fun doing it. They'll take off on one at the drop
of a hat, and come back with little knickknacks for everyone (though my family
has always brought me back hot sauce, apple butter, and honey from every place
they go. No, I have no idea why they do this, and yes I do find it just as
strange as you, but free noms are free noms!) They travel, visit old friends,
and they make new memories together that they never did while raising their
children. It’s fucking inspiring. My stepfather and mother bought Harley Davidsons, took
up scuba diving, and bought a little cabin on a lake after my sister and
brothers moved out. Everyone was doing what they loved, but only after they no
longer had children at home to care for.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxC4wB6xrs_3Uqda3nQpc5C2KdecSubVQuPq15Xp0i0m9VPmn7Xz7MN17UhtYyM0utMxGB1xlvipapA7nYc8ZV62zZ94QBeIrLbSmPG8O1kLdFbzqoKhWUt20gqoRNIkL-FLD6m6MyrpJ/s1600/BabyJay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxC4wB6xrs_3Uqda3nQpc5C2KdecSubVQuPq15Xp0i0m9VPmn7Xz7MN17UhtYyM0utMxGB1xlvipapA7nYc8ZV62zZ94QBeIrLbSmPG8O1kLdFbzqoKhWUt20gqoRNIkL-FLD6m6MyrpJ/s1600/BabyJay.jpg" height="320" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like a thug do.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivej9AvsDnwqtfDhSXAN6BxrC5dC4Q85xmcGVMkJPETZw9cbCOuUz52Re5wv6XpUKA5PEmXBQP-22mZh9q2P9jBcs68SEGwxuZOWv-3AjldFb2AywIAAK0aTDItNU-QRw4bsh3-8-9Xobh/s1600/BabyJay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivej9AvsDnwqtfDhSXAN6BxrC5dC4Q85xmcGVMkJPETZw9cbCOuUz52Re5wv6XpUKA5PEmXBQP-22mZh9q2P9jBcs68SEGwxuZOWv-3AjldFb2AywIAAK0aTDItNU-QRw4bsh3-8-9Xobh/s1600/BabyJay.jpg" height="320" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, I know, I was freaking adorable.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<h2>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How about some fucking hindsight?</span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fuck that. I don't want my son looking back at
his father after he has gone off to college or started a family of his own and
seeing me doing all of the things I'd wanted to do and didn't because I had
made being a father my identity. I don't want him to ever feel like he held me
back from enjoying life, because he is what makes life enjoyable and he needs
to know that at all times. He needs to know that I am more than just a parent
slaving away to provide for him. More than just know it, he needs to see it and
have enough memories proving it to never feel it is even a viable consideration. He needs to
know that he is an addition to my life, not a burden.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So I decided to make some changes, and in the
last year I've started learning things I have always wanted to do, but never
did for whatever reasons/excuses I gave myself. I've started learning to speak
a new language, play guitar, and even how to paint. I am fucking terrible at
every single one of them, but they're fun and I am constantly improving. I do
these things with Xekan too, and painting is his favorite (though he loves
racing me and his Tio Brent to respond to the Spanish language learning tracks
while in the car). I'm even planning on learning to play the violin in the next
few months, in hopes that learning two instruments will help keep me from
burning out on learning to play guitar. I have reconnected with old passions,
like writing and running and going to concerts as well. I'm reading more than
I've ever read before, and I am encouraging Xekan to come up with new things to
do while incorporating him into all that I do as often as I can (or that he
allows). He turns 4 in September, and sometime after that I am going to have
him take piano lessons, assuming the teachers that teach kids his age feel he
is ready for lessons. Not only am I going to start him taking those lessons, I
am going to learn right along with him. Then we are going to train
in Bujinkan together. These are just some of our examples, (not including all
of the science experiments and things we take apart and put back together) and
as time passes more and more things will come up that we haven't yet thought of.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">You see, I don't want my son growing up thinking
a parent is only a parent and incapable of being anything else. I don't want
him thinking I had to sacrifice any of my dreams for him, because I haven't. I
do not sacrifice for him, because that assumes I’d rather do or have something
else more than him. It says that what I do is out of obligation, not desire. If
given the choice between going to a movie with friends, or staying home and
cooking dinner with Xekan, I’m going to choose Xekan. I’m not sacrificing, I’m
choosing. Making a choice does not equate to sacrificing all other possible choices.
That is a mentality that bothers me. I’m not cool with it. I still have
passions and dreams and goals that I am actively working toward. Now I am,
above all else, most passionate about being his father - there is no doubting
that. I'm still more than his father, though. I am all of the things that brought me
to the place where I can be his father, and I want him to know that. I want
everyone to know that. You don't have to give up everything about yourself when
you become a parent and only hang out with other parents. In fact, most of the
friends that Xekan and I see most often do not even have kids, and I'm
beginning to think that is because I haven't lost my identity to parenthood. I
haven't limited my activities and passions to what parents that only hang out
with parents do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUcs5rVrptjLRqh5J9dabD_QrbqUBa2iygE6YBe-XCi6x-dAfNajLhb_N-gTSggMEtKyBlnCs-CP7XQ7HpxgeEM7wpDaT7dq9fd8IWdrPzYToKY8Ba2C9gTChmErldS-0XS6OM5ly6kdt/s1600/IMG_4267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUcs5rVrptjLRqh5J9dabD_QrbqUBa2iygE6YBe-XCi6x-dAfNajLhb_N-gTSggMEtKyBlnCs-CP7XQ7HpxgeEM7wpDaT7dq9fd8IWdrPzYToKY8Ba2C9gTChmErldS-0XS6OM5ly6kdt/s1600/IMG_4267.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We love Deadpool, so we paint Deadpool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYv-rK9K4ESoK4ApAHo8uksTCGF33G_fpDBdqbOISZT-yJqsLwbsqZdaHdy6QSbHjzJieHvROKnQZ5MoQn0xXGLuvBEF8pRzzANtTyL60wcvQHyv7A2xvPyy4iV10iuJJqAeByYEk08RDB/s1600/20140323_210530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYv-rK9K4ESoK4ApAHo8uksTCGF33G_fpDBdqbOISZT-yJqsLwbsqZdaHdy6QSbHjzJieHvROKnQZ5MoQn0xXGLuvBEF8pRzzANtTyL60wcvQHyv7A2xvPyy4iV10iuJJqAeByYEk08RDB/s1600/20140323_210530.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Xekan painted his mother a heart, and then declared his next piece would be a PB & Honey sandwich.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-q_qSzlf_EMLJjhS13WDfKtAUZP2mQKVLStSQ6SB8h1-x-itscDFaf2hUPSc2NN7vpMmZ2y52ICBJzoN22gbywhJR8FskHNAQaBvtdHzOKAe4HqJUeLEYvoQ_FqEsZQw34xUP2HFb5_Zl/s1600/IMG_3815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-q_qSzlf_EMLJjhS13WDfKtAUZP2mQKVLStSQ6SB8h1-x-itscDFaf2hUPSc2NN7vpMmZ2y52ICBJzoN22gbywhJR8FskHNAQaBvtdHzOKAe4HqJUeLEYvoQ_FqEsZQw34xUP2HFb5_Zl/s1600/IMG_3815.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strongbad, because THUG.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<h2>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Brass tacks all over the place.</span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While it is true that I waited to become a
parent when I was [relatively] ready, so that I didn't have to make any
lifestyle changes, I don't think that's an excuse for giving up who you are. If
anything, someone that is young and becoming a parent before they are ready
should still have their idealistic dreams that society likes to beat out of those that wait as
long as I did (which is not to say 27 is an old age to have kids). Which brings us around to the bullshit we've been programmed to say to each other when expecting a child. When someone becomes pregnant all they are told is
how their lives are no longer their lives, everything will change, they can no
longer do the things they want, raising a child is going to be the hardest
thing they will ever have to do, life as they know it is officially over, so on
and so forth. Why the fuck would we say these things?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">People having their first child, especially when
they're young, are told they have to give up everything that makes them the
people they are simply because they're bringing a child into the world. This tends to be taken as good intentions, though I feel it is often said with
a tone of disappointment coated in resentment. It's fucking horrible advice
either way. It isn't true, and I can't think of anything positive that can be
gained from advice like that. Seriously, those are fucking horrible things to
say to anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Telling these things to someone may let them
know that they have to grow up and be more mindful of their choices, especially
if they are particularly selfish and impulsive, but it also sends the message
that having kids is horrible. It implies that in order to start a family, you
have to be a particular kind of person with no sense of individuality. How
often do we all say we are going to be this kind of parent, or that kind of
parent? Why don’t we say, “I’m going to be me, just with kid(s)...”? Because
that’d be crazy, so we have to put ourselves into a mold and use it to shape us
into these made up parental archetypes, even if it means having our souls torn
from us. That's horrifying. Isn't that essentially why most people are afraid
of dying? Losing who you are is a living death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, why would I tell someone their life is over
when they become a parent, if I feel like mine didn't really begin until Xekan
was born? Why describe it as the most difficult job in the world, when being a
parent is the anchor that reminds me how wonderful life is? No, I will not push
those thoughts onto anyone, nor will I accept them from any person spouting the
nonsense. Being a parent is not a reason to "sacrifice" who I am and
what I love for a greater good, but inspiration for me to work harder for the
things I've spent my entire life dreaming of. It's the inspiration that pushes
me to inspire my son, and that's fucking wonderful. <i>Seriously fucking wonderful.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">I guess what I am getting at with all of this
rambling, is that I'm sick of people describing something so positive as
something negative. Turning themselves into martyrs that sacrifice everything
that makes them who they are so that they can be the best parent they can be,
while ignoring just how detrimental that mentality truly is to their children.
Honestly, is it so hard to see the light in a sunbeam that people have to deny
its luminescence in order to fabricate a dim flicker of an interpretation?
That’s just ridiculous.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV45VP7ZCKcZQCd1V6e607-XuqGJhZIS2FjHl4dVFnSKsw3L6Ry0a6Q5BChERCg-R6txQbaD8zcrkO5V4tBTAMO_bnWfN8oF10yp_U4d6FZwrAIf3Z6YhjjCLrPErkdxvbHhl-DJvZKsLX/s1600/X-Man.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV45VP7ZCKcZQCd1V6e607-XuqGJhZIS2FjHl4dVFnSKsw3L6Ry0a6Q5BChERCg-R6txQbaD8zcrkO5V4tBTAMO_bnWfN8oF10yp_U4d6FZwrAIf3Z6YhjjCLrPErkdxvbHhl-DJvZKsLX/s1600/X-Man.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do I need to repeat anything?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the end we're all just jelly beans anyway.</span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s ridiculous, because I believe parenting is
one of the greatest joys in the universe. Well, it is for me and countless
other parents. Parenting isn’t something everyone wants or should do, nor
should anyone be made to feel damaged or selfish for not wanting to have
children. Parenting is a choice. Regardless of your opinions of the options
available, it is still 100% a choice, and it is a great honor and privilege
that not everyone is capable of experiencing. Sometimes it’s hard, frustrating,
terrifying, and heartbreakingly painful. Most of the time, however, it’s
incredible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Being a parent is a great many things to everyone
lucky enough to experience it, but it is not an excuse. Though
what parent </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">hasn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> used their kids to get out of doing something with friends they just </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> want to do? It still isn't an excuse to give up on your dreams, to
throw away everything that makes you who you are, or to stop doing the things
that make you happy. The things you want and love may change daily, and
parenting may change them more drastically than winning a lottery, but changing
your dreams and goals does not equate to giving up on them. Those things are
vital in providing the best for your children.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">If you really want what is best for your kids,
and you believe they can be anything they want if they try, then you have to be
ready to show them how to try. Telling them to do something that you are not
doing, and using the excuse that </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">you're</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> not doing it so that they can, is seriously fucked up. It’s lazy, riddled with guilt, and just a horrible thing to put on a
child’s shoulders. Saying or feeling that way does not make you a martyr.
Saying you do without so that your kids do not have to, is not a good parental
quality. Unless, of course, </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">you're</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> talking about food and water - things needed for life,
not entertainment or creature comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You can't be an artless breeder and expect your
kid to stay a dreamer for very long. You can't expect them to want more from
life than you've achieved if you are not trying to achieve more. If they see
you content with just being a parent without any passions beyond your children,
then they are likely to aim for the same life. Likewise, if they see you
dwelling on what might have been and feeling bitter with life, accepting that
you can't have more and shouldn't even try; well that is probably what they're
going to do as well. You can't hide those feelings from them, they will notice.
They see almost everything, and what they don’t see, they feel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There is no excuse for quitting your pursuit of
hopes and dreams after becoming a parent. The only deadline we have to achieve
the things we want to achieve is death. Until then, there is time to
dream and achieve, so don't let having kids convince you that it is too late.
That just puts more pressure on them to figure out what they want before
they've had time to live and dream enough to even figure out how to know what
they want. If you have time to watch television at all, you have time to pursue
a dream. You have time to practice a hobby. You have time to work on being the
best possible you that you can be. Your kids are not an excuse to give up on
yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">If, however, you feel that parenting is a noble
job worthy of being a person’s sole goal in life… Well, I don't really know
what else I can say that will show you why I feel the way I do. I don't know
how to explain why I can't accept, what is essentially just having sex, as a
legitimate career goal. Even if I could view it as a job, I </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">don't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> think I could
understand the mentality that leads someone to desire a job that has literally
no requirements beyond willingness to have sex and having been born with functioning
reproductive organs. Would you be okay with your child saying they want to make
a career out of earning minimum wage somewhere that employs teens still in high
school with no experience or actual qualifications? It pays more than just
being a parent does, so why not? I'm guessing you'd want them to want and do things
that showcase how incredible they are. Things that utilize all of the potential
you see in them every single time you look into their eyes. So tell me why you
can't love being a parent </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">and</i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> love
doing other things. Your potential isn't something you have a finite amount of
that transfers into them during conception in hopes that they do more with it
than you did. It’s still there, waiting for you to utilize it like only you
can.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can't understand not wanting more from myself
or from life, but I can understand the path that may lead someone to that
point. Parenting, like all relationships, has the potential to consume us so
that we forget that we are more than that relationship. We are more than the
best friend, more than the spouse, more than a sibling or nibling or
aunt/uncle, more than an employee or boss, and more than a parent. We are our
passions, our desires, and every single moment that led to the one we are in
right now. It’s important that we remember that, and even more important that
we do not allow ourselves to lose or forget it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">If you aren't actively working on who you are
and who you want to be, </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">you'll</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> just become a noisy bag of bones talking about
who you were and who you could have been. If you feel you've lost your
identity, or can't remember the last time you felt like more than a parent, do something about it. Get off your ass and paint a picture, try
something you've never done before, attempt to enjoy something you are not good
at. Have fun being bad at something, and watch just how fast your identity
stops being a singular thing. Then watch your children grow in the ways you've
always hoped they would, and never knew they could. Realize that their growth
depends so much on you remembering that you don’t stop growing when your height
plateaus or your children are born. So long as your brain is functioning, you
are growing, and the direction of that growth is solely your responsibility.
Own it. Our children depend on us being more than just their parents. They need
us to be people, individuals, characters; so that they can grow into the people
they want to be rather than who they’re told they should be. Be an innovator so
that you can raise innovators, because innovators are what the world needs more
than anything else. Baby makers are a dime a dozen, but great people that
inspire and create change are priceless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We are all capable of more than we think, and we
can't let the fear of failing in front of our children stop us from testing
those capabilities. Failure is key to growth, and should be embraced by
everyone. You learn far more from failure than you do from success, and it is
important that our children understand this. I’m happy to be a failure for my
son, and I hope that when </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I'm</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> gone he remembers me as more than just his
father. I hope he remembers me as a loving failure that encouraged him to fail,
learn, and grow with me rather than for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">So, are you willing to fail for your kid? Can
you give up your parental identity and don that of ‘Failure’ for your child? I
challenge you to give it a try. Spend 30 days trying things you've never tried
before, things you know you will fail at, and then enjoy those failures. Learn
from them. Take some time to reflect on them. Embrace them like compost for
your soul, encouraging personal growth and pushing aside the dry sand you've
had your soul planted in since you forgot who you are. Or, you know, don’t. I’m
just some weirdo on the Internet with obscenely high opinions of his opinions,
so what do I know?</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8v5WBK8ORPNWk0mwvEKD6AnZg8EXr_mVrgtDucQ9MDSEFbspmH9yufXeK51iYNU50CDQT7qqTkJgOIUyKPNDfIUY-gyhSjK1Y0x5sTcpx0xQKSrChNyQ14HfadY5P6rtl_OL-BvQ84fqe/s1600/IMG_1346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8v5WBK8ORPNWk0mwvEKD6AnZg8EXr_mVrgtDucQ9MDSEFbspmH9yufXeK51iYNU50CDQT7qqTkJgOIUyKPNDfIUY-gyhSjK1Y0x5sTcpx0xQKSrChNyQ14HfadY5P6rtl_OL-BvQ84fqe/s1600/IMG_1346.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Embarrassing a two year old is an art.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com5Atlanta, GA, USA33.7489954 -84.387982433.3266004 -85.0334294 34.1713904 -83.7425354tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-35695721633327051662014-02-14T19:07:00.000-05:002014-02-14T19:07:00.533-05:00My Name is Jordan Reeves<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>This is part of a short story I started last summer as a way of expressing what my divorce has felt like. It's part 1 of ? and I'm not sure when I will write or post part 2. I figured the best motivation to write it would be to go ahead and post this one.</i></span></span></h4>
<h3>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Part 1: Who Are You Anyway?</span></h3>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I awoke to the sound of a steel gate sliding open with no regard for the sleeping. Eyes stretched open in early morning confusion, and I found myself somewhere unfamiliar. Concrete walls around me, and a hard cot beneath my back. Sat up to see bars on a window and a small aluminum toilet in the corner of this small cell. A man in a uniform stood at the entrance he’d just opened, staring at me with a grin. He wasn't much taller than myself, but seemed a lot more solid than I am. Shoulders a little more broad. “It’s your lucky day, son” he said with a hint of sincerity.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>How did I get here?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I stood up, trying to gain some composure. Trying to remember where I was, why I was there.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>Have I been here long?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Outside the cell was another uniformed guard. His grin a bit more genuine and his eyes seemed slightly glossed over. He was taller than the other guard; face had more of a round shape too. Not quite as fit, but still not someone I’d challenge to a fight unless I absolutely had to, and yet, there was something jolly and disarming about him. I felt a little more at ease, but no less confused.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>What is going on?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I followed them down a long corridor, cells with other men sleeping on hard cots on both sides of the path. All of them still sleeping. All of them motionless except for the occasional rise in their chests as they pulled air into their lungs in long, deep breaths.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Wher – Where are we… going?” I finally managed to choke out of a dry throat that felt like it hadn't been used in years. “You’re no longer welcome here, so we’re taking you out,” chuckled the first guard. Trying to remain calm, I turned to look at him when the second guard chimed in, “He’s fucking with you, son. You’re being set free today.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>Being set free from what? From where? To where?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I must have been silent for too long, because the second guard spoke again. “You've been here for 8 years, son. No, you aren't crazy. Well, you may be, but not about this. Today you are finally being set free.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Why am I here and how… did I end up here?” I said swallowing hard. The confusion was only worsening as I was becoming more alert. He gave me a sympathetic smile. “You put yourself here. Everyone here comes here by choice. None of them really know where this place is, or what it is that they are putting themselves through, but they all do it. You too. Marcus and I have been your guards since the day you arrived. My name is Sean.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I looked around at Marcus and then the other prisoners we were passing. All of them were out cold, unfazed by the sound of our loud footsteps and voices echoing throughout the concrete chambers around us. Not even a twitch.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I nodded toward one of the cells, “When will… they be free?” “They won’t,” boomed Marcus, “Most don’t ever see freedom again. Honestly, we didn't think you’d ever see it again.” “Don’t say ‘we,’ Marcus!” Sean gleefully interrupted, “I believe I bet you $50 that he would make it out of here before year 10.” “Yeah, yeah, try not to get too wet over there. It’s just one $50 bet, not like you won the lottery or anything.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">We reached the end of the corridor, and Marcus started working on the series of locks that were keeping us inside. I turned to Sean and he had the look of a man that knew exactly what I was thinking, as if he’d gone through this a thousand times before. “They’re to keep people out, not to keep you in. When people come here, it is to get away from the rest of the world. Our job is to make sure they stay out and do not disturb you while you are here.” He sighed and continued, “Most people never see the outside world again once they enter here. They stay here, believing they are happier than they could possibly be out there, not even realizing they are not out there…” He trailed off, staring at something far beyond the floor his eyes had turned to. “Your agent will explain everything when you get outside.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Marcus finished opening the last lock, and we walked into the brightest goddamn room I had ever seen. Solid white marble from floor to ceiling, except for one window on the opposing wall from where we stood, that seemed to have the sun blaring directly through it, illuminating the place like a tanning bed. The only hint of a shadow in the place was being made by the tall man standing in the middle of the room with a smile that reeked of salesman. He was well dressed, thin, and had his hand motioning for us to come forward. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Go ahead,” nudged Sean, “he isn't going to bite you.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I walked forward and the slim man reached out to shake my hand. As I took his hand, he smiled and showed teeth as bright and white as the room we were in. <i>This man has teeth like God’s shoeshine. That song will never sound the same again. That is a real song, right? What if everything I thought, every song I loved, every movie I ever saw… No, they’re real, they have to be real. This man must be my agent. I have to know. </i>I reached out to shake his hand and smiled as I said, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m –“ “Jordan Reeves. I’m well aware of who you are-," he gleefully interrupted. <i>Jordan Reeves. My name is Jordan Reeves. I remember that.</i> "and everything about you. I’m your agent, Mr. Godbee. Barry Godbee. You can call me Barry,” he said with much enthusiasm. Much more than felt necessary. I was nobody, and he sounded like a fanboy talking to the cast of Firefly. <i>I hope I didn't dream up that show... or do I? Is it stealing if I steal something from someone in a dream? Focus, Jordan. Focus. Figure out where you are and what is going on right now.</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Okay… Barry. Why don’t I remember… coming here? Where exactly is here, and… why have I never heard of a place like this? It clearly… isn't a mental institution, or at least not like any I have ever seen. Why… am I suddenly being set free today?” I felt myself getting worked up and my throat was feeling worse, so I cut myself off, hoping he’d answer at least one of my questions. Explain some things to me. Anything.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">His enthusiastic smile changed from fanboy smile to the small smile a doctor gives a patient before informing them that they have cancer. My heart sank, hands started to tingle, and my already dry throat became a barren desert. “Let’s go for a ride, Mr. Reeves. We have much to talk about.” Agent Godbee placed his hand on my shoulder and guided me toward a door in the corner that I hadn't noticed before. It was nearly invisible in this bizarrely sterile white room.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>What the fuck is going on?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">As Agent Godbee opened the door, I turned back to Sean and Marcus, and they were both smiling. Sean gave a nod and half yelled across the large room, “Don’t worry, Jordan, everything is going to be better than you ever thought possible.” “Go on, you lucky bastard,” Marcus said with a dismissive wave and friendly laugh. I turned back to Agent Godbee to see him holding the door waiting for me to enter… or was it an exit? I stepped toward it and looked back at the guards again, wondering why they could not accompany us. Marcus was shaking his head and pulling a wallet from his front pocket.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">The door took us into a hallway with lights that came on as we walked, but I could see no censors anywhere. There were no doors, and it was barely wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side. Sharp turns at random distances made the place feel like a maze. Agent Godbee was walking next to me, humming a tune I recognized but could not quite place.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>I know this song. Ugh! It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue. </i></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">We turned another corner in the hallway. <i>Fuck! What is that song?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Mr. Reeves! You must be dying for something to drink, and I have not offered you a thing. Would you like some water, or some juice? Anything?” As thirsty as I was, I had been so distracted by the confusion of everything that I had not thought to ask for anything to drink. “Yes, please. Anything will do.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">We stopped in front of the only door I’d seen since entering this hallway, and Agent Godbee removed a key from his front shirt pocket. When the door opened, there was nothing in it but a vending machine. Not any vending machine I had ever seen before, either. It was covered completely with buttons, each with an image representing a flavor drink or food. He stepped aside and motioned for me to make a selection. There was no place to insert money anywhere among the wall of buttons before me. I pressed the one that had an image of a mango on a soda can and the one that looked like a bottle of water. A can of mango nectar and a bottle of water fell into the slot at the bottom. I removed them and immediately opened and chugged the can of mango juice.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>I have never tasted anything so delicious.</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I finished the juice, and stood there breathing heavily and sighing with relief at how amazing the juice tasted and felt on my parched throat. Agent Godbee pointed to a slot on the lower right of the machine. I placed the can in the slot, and heard it sucked into oblivion.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Thank you,” I said as I opened the bottle of water and took a sip, “I hadn't realized just how thirsty I was. It feels like I haven’t had anything to drink or eat in years.” You haven’t,” he said so matter-of-factly that I wasn't sure how to respond.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>Haven’t? Haven’t? How have I not had anything to eat or drink in years? Didn't I have pizza just last night with my wife? Oh, god! My wife! My son! Do they know I’m here?!</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Barry, where are my wife and son?” I tried to sound as calm as possible. “Do they know that I am here? Are they okay?” He placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Jordan. Charlotte and Xavier are fine. Everyone is fine. I will explain everything on our ride to your new life.”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>That’s a relief… New life? What?</i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">We reached the end of the hallway and stood there as Agent Godbee went through another series of locks keeping us inside, and everyone else out. He was much more efficient with the locks than Marcus was. He opened the last lock, and we were outside, bright yellowish white sun beating down on us. It hurt my eyes, but felt nice. I closed my eyes, and took in a deep breath with my face to the sky.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“This way, Mr. Reeves.” I opened my eyes and shook myself back into focus. Taking a long drink of my water, I followed Agent Godbee toward a gate about 30 yards from the door we just stepped out of. On the other side was a long, silver limousine. The ride to my new life. I don't know what that meant, but I knew I was almost free of a prison I had no idea even existed until 20 minutes ago.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-17536044046132952162013-07-03T18:15:00.001-04:002014-06-12T04:38:36.743-04:00A Blog Post About Suicide<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="line-height: 1.15;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Suicide</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span>is a sensitive
topic. One that most all of us have had to deal with, whether with the loss of
someone we know, or with the idea of taking our own life. It is often said that
suicide is a selfish and cowardly act. That giving up on life, forgetting everyone
you know, and thinking only of yourself is so selfish and stupid that not much
else surpasses its cowardice. Cowardly, because staying and dealing would be
harder and far braver.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">I get sick to my stomach
when I hear these things. More often than not, I stay quiet. I know that saying
these things is merely a coping mechanism for most people. It is a way for them
to deal with the loss of a loved one, or to suppress their own dark thoughts and guilt for having not stepped in when they could have. I
can understand the need for this, but I cannot accept it as the most beneficial
way of coping, or even the least harmful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am going to try and
explain why I do not agree with these thoughts, and why I feel they are harmful
to have, share, and/or encourage others to have. I do not know of any studies
showing whether or not these opinions are actually harmful, but will probably
be motivated to search for some before I'm through here. I am merely expressing
my opinion based on my own experiences as someone who has seriously attempted
suicide several times, and as someone that has lost many friends and family
members to suicide.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: x-large;">Why is suicide a selfish
act?</span></span></i></b><i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: large;"> A common argument is that suicide is selfish because the person
committing it is not thinking of anyone but themselves. They are not concerned
with the pain and suffering that their loved ones will endure. They're just
concerned with ending their pain, and nothing else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">I feel there are a lot
of flaws in that thought process. Mainly, the assumption that every single
person contemplating suicide has the same thoughts and reasoning behind their
decision to end their own life. It seems to assume that they are all so self
absorbed that they do not care about anyone or anything; or worse, that they
are spoiled teens that think it will be the ultimate revenge on people that
have been cruel to them. That it will give them some sort of legendary status.
The forgotten always remembered.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">That's a bit too
presumptuous for me to accept, though. It leaves out so many things. Namely
those people with mental illnesses beyond depression and teen angst. Not once
did I ever feel like ending my life would make people remember me, or feel bad
for treating me the way they did. Nor did I ever think people would love me
more after I was gone. When I was at that point, it was the thought that the
people I loved would be better off without me that made the choice seem more
like the right one. I felt like I was a burden on everyone I knew, dead weight
that none of them needed or deserved. If I just ended everything, they would be
better off. I knew they'd miss me, but they would be relieved of the troubles I
caused them all. These thoughts were so strong, that I felt like a failure when
I woke up alive. Even more so when I ended up in ICU for a week and had to
endure visitors and the knowledge that everyone I knew was now aware of yet
another of my many failures. I felt like a freak show that people felt sorry
for. I felt that I was an even larger burden, because on top of everything
else, they now had to worry about me taking my own life. I felt like everyone
that walked into that room was thinking I'd only attempted what I did so that I
could get attention. That if I'd been really serious about it, I'd have
swallowed a thousand prescription pills rather than the 500+ that I did take.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">That is what that kind
of severe depression does to you. It rationalizes things that are not rational.
It makes you believe that everyone else wants you to do it, and that not taking
your own life is the selfish act. Everyone wants you to go. No one wants to
deal with you and your pain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then there are those that
kill themselves out of severe mental illness. Several years ago I lost a dear
friend suffering from paranoid delusions, believing the government was after
her. She felt she was being watched at all times, and was so afraid that she
asked a family member for a pistol to place under her pillow as she slept, just
to be safe. A few weeks later, she used that pistol to take her own life. It
had been a couple of years since I had last seen her, and only a week after I'd
asked a friend how she was doing and to invite her out for my birthday the
following month. She had been off medication and recreational drugs for over a
year, and that was long enough for her to go from one of the smartest and most
amazing people I'd known, to someone so distraught with paranoia that the only
way she could save herself and protect her family was to end her own life. I
was told she did not leave a note.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">I would also talk about
those that kill themselves in order to save their family from debt through life
insurance, but I do not believe I personally know of anyone that has done this.
My uncle may fall into this area, but I never wanted to ask anyone any more
details than I was already given. From what I did learn, he was severely depressed
and felt helpless. I’d like to stick with only those that I have more
definitive knowledge of, and experience with.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: x-large;">Why is suicide a
cowardly act?</span></span></i></b><i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: large;"> It often said suicide is cowardly, because it is taking the
easy way out. Instead of taking the high road and working on their problems,
they are giving up. They are basically running from them in a way that they can
never turn back. They are scared of life, and scared of the hard work that
comes with it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm really not sure why
people forget how scary death is when talking about suicide. To not only
attempt it, but to seriously think about it beforehand and still do it, is far
from cowardly. It takes a lot to follow through, which is why so many go with
falling from buildings/bridges and swallowing pills. Things that are quick and
as painless as possible (the irony that swallowing pills, slitting wrists,
hanging, suffocating, drowning, etc; can be quite painful and drawn out in
comparison to a gunshot, is not lost on me.). This is not to say people should
be commended posthumously for their suicides. I do not believe anyone that
takes their own life should be thought of as brave for doing what many cannot,
because the events leading to the act are full of missed chances to have
changed things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each time that I
attempted to end my own life, I thought very long and hard about what I was
doing, and why I was doing it. I prepared for it (with the exception of one
incident that involved plastic and duct tape) and took my time to make sure it
was exactly what I wanted and needed to do. It wasn't easy, and each time I was
scared shitless. This was a permanent decision. If I succeeded, there would be
no second chances. I was sacrificing everything to end the pain that had turned
me into a burden that everyone I had ever loved was forced to carry. The
feelings in the moments before and during felt much like those felt when
placing myself into harm’s way to protect a loved one. The primary differences
were society calling me a coward looking for attention and society labeling me
a kind of hero. To be honest, placing myself in harm’s way for a loved one has
always been a much easier choice to make. It is natural, while suicide goes
against all of my natural instincts.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: x-large;">Why is suicide a stupid
act?</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></i></b><i><span color:="" mso-bidi-font-weight:bold="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: large;">I have heard many times over that
suicide is stupid, because there are always people worse off and not
taking their lives. That the only people being hurt by suicide are the loved
ones left behind to mourn. That it is stupid for the same reasons that make it
selfish and cowardly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The people that I often hear say this appear to be those that are
the most afraid of their own mortality. It rarely has any rational thought
behind it, and I feel that this reason is the most harmful of them all, and the
one that exemplifies most why there needs to be more dialogue and discourse
when it comes to suicide. Regardless of what most people claim, death is the
one thing our species fears most. It is what we are trying hardest to cure. Be
it through faith or science, just about everyone wants to live forever. So to
try and imagine what it is like to no longer want to exist. To not have that
primal instinct to survive; well, that can be damn near impossible for many
people to imagine, let alone accept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This does not make suicide stupid. This makes the lack of
education and awareness of mental illness stupid. This makes societal etiquette
when it comes to what people should and should not talk about stupid. It does
not make the act stupid, and it most certainly has no bearing on the
intelligence of anyone that has attempted or committed suicide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone in a place that makes suicide seem like an answer to
anything, is not a stupid person. Anyone in that place knows there are other
answers, and they have thought about them. They have weighed them against one
another. They have hit a point where they go from sad to a point in sadness
that many people may never know. A point where the realization that they have
hit the place where suicide is a serious option increases their sadness in a
way that it no longer seems like a choice. It turns into something that has to
be done, because the point of no return has been crossed and long since left
behind. The act no longer feels like it is even about them. It has become an act
for the greater good. Once this point has been reached, it is not following
through that feels like the selfish and cowardly act. Many of those lucky enough to
survive an attempt know exactly how much it hurts to wake up and realize that
they have “failed.” Given enough time that feeling can turn to gratefulness. Having
people that are not afraid to talk about it without pity or judgment can
greatly decrease that time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-size: large;">Why I feel it is harmful
to talk about suicide as selfish and cowardly and stupid:</span></span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">Shame</span></i><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">.
First and foremost, shame. When you talk about suicide in these ways, you are
making those with suicidal thoughts feel shame for thinking about ending their
own life. Secondly, you are keeping suicide taboo. You are encouraging others
to keep suicide a taboo subject in which people are afraid to talk about out of
fear that they will be negatively judged. No one should ever feel ashamed of
their feelings or afraid to talk about a serious topic because it makes others
uncomfortable. Especially when talking about it may save someone’s life. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">Someone in a state that
already has them contemplating suicide is most certainly not in need of added
guilt and shame for feeling that way. To be in that mindset one already feels
hopeless and alone, and does not need anything else strengthening those
thoughts and feelings. No one should ever feel ostracized for feeling badly. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">The next time you catch
yourself thinking suicide is selfish, cowardly, or stupid; ask yourself what is
more likely - people contemplating, attempting, or committing suicide are these
things; or is it more likely that being unable to get beyond your own
discomfort with the subject is what is truly selfish, cowardly, and stupid?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">Suicide is not selfish,
it is heartbreaking. It is not cowardly, it is tragic. Suicide is not stupid.
Suicide is preventable.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Be someone that brings awareness to others, and not someone afraid to accept a serious reality for many people. So long as suicide is considered a taboo conversation topic, lives that could have been saved will continue to be lost.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/gethelp" target="_blank">National SuicidePrevention Lifeline</a>: 1-800-273-8255<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span color:black="" new="" roman="" serif="" times="">Here are a few links about
suicide that I feel are worth reading:</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/happiness-in-world/201004/the-six-reasons-people-attempt-suicide">http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/happiness-in-world/201004/the-six-reasons-people-attempt-suicide</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.suicide.org/suicide-myths.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.suicide.org/suicide-myths.html</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><a href="http://www.cracked.com/article_15658_the-ten-minute-suicide-guide.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.cracked.com/article_15658_the-ten-minute-suicide-guide.html</span></a></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/creating-in-flow/201107/four-myths-about-suicide"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/creating-in-flow/201107/four-myths-about-suicide</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126365907"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126365907</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.psychiatrictimes.com/suicide/understanding-and-overcoming-myths-suicide"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.psychiatrictimes.com/suicide/understanding-and-overcoming-myths-suicide</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/depression-recognizing-signs-of-suicide"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/depression-recognizing-signs-of-suicide</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<u><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/suicide-prevention-studies/warning-signs-of-suicide.shtml">http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/suicide-prevention-studies/warning-signs-of-suicide.shtml</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<u><span cc="" color:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""><a href="http://www.helpguide.org/mental/suicide_prevention.htm"><span style="font-family: inherit;">http://www.helpguide.org/mental/suicide_prevention.htm</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="font-family: '} '; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: #1155cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></u></div>
</div>
Jasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09907298958974974256noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-46759978664325363782013-06-14T10:32:00.004-04:002014-07-21T23:40:27.407-04:00Double Standards Of Parenting<div class="MsoNormal">
The toughest thing about being a parent is dealing with
other people. Doesn't matter if they have children or not, almost everyone
seems to have an opinion on what all parents are supposed to do if they are to
be a good parent. Throw in something about yourself that doesn't fit in with the
All-American nuclear family idea from the 50's, and you've got a whole new set
of things you’re doing wrong coming your way. You could be a parent that is
LGBTQ, a different race from the person you had you child(ren) with, different
religion from the norm you were raised around, political views that are not in
line with any social norms, or even someone that is just a lover of tattoos and
other body modifications. There are so many things that will drive people to
telling you just how wrong you are for having that thing you have that they do
not also have.</div>
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I have a few of them. Politically I am a Centrist, which
basically means I hate politics and choosing a side, which often ends in all
sides accusing me of being whatever opposing side they are upset with at that
moment. I am a lover of tattoos, and am always working toward expanding my
collection (or updating my canvas, if you will). My son’s mother is not the
same race that I am, from the same country (though technically U.S. territories
are “part” of the US, it is another country), nor do we share the same native
language (and yet her mastery of the English language goes far beyond my own,
and I don’t speak any other languages). I’m also an atheist, which I’m sure comes
as no surprise to anyone reading this blog.</div>
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It is very rare that anyone brings up politics as a reason
to tell me I’m wrong. This is likely because I do not talk about politics very
often. My hatred/annoyance of them keeps me from discussing them, not because I
do not care about the state of my country, but because it is almost always
people arguing over who has the better oranges and what it takes to grow a
great orange and the best methods of juicing oranges, then they go and vote on
apples and kiwis. Same with my son being of mixed races, which is more than
likely because his mother is fair skinned and does not speak with the accent
one would expect of someone from Puerto Rico (though every last one of her
friends and family members I have met from there have an accent). I have a lot
of tattoos, but no longer wear any body jewelry, so I do not get the stares I
used to get, and the quality of my ink is amazing, which is something even the
most hateful of tattoo haters cannot deny. So I rarely get anything negative
from those people other than how ugly my skin will look when I’m 80. No, the
main thing people love to attack me for, is being an atheist. Maybe it is
atheism that keeps them from attacking me on other fronts, or maybe our culture
is truly progressing in how we accept the differences in other people. I’d like
to believe that to be true.</div>
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I am going to focus on raising a child as an atheist,
because that is the one thing about me that causes the most headaches from
other people. Plus it is the only one that I think I can write more than a
paragraph or two on before I feel like I've said all that needs to be said (I
could probably write for days on LGBTQ parenting and how amazing it is for a
child, but I have no firsthand experience in that, so I’ll save it for another
day).</div>
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<h3>
<i>So…</i></h3>
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As a parent, I am one of the two most influential people in
my son’s life. Because of this, I am constantly working to be the very best
example I can be for him. I do this in every facet of my life. What I believe in
regards to religion is <i>very important in who I am*</i> and what kind of example I
am setting for him. If I keep that from him, what kind of example am I setting?
Especially when almost no other person he meets each day will keep their
beliefs from him? How is my letting him grow up not knowing that I do not
believe in god, while allowing the rest of his family to encourage a belief,
right? It isn't. It isn't right at all.</div>
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I will not hide any part of who I am from my son, regardless
of what my peers feel. I want to encourage him to always be true to himself,
and open about who he is. Hiding a part of me from him will not teach him to
come to conclusions on his own, it will teach him that there are parts of who
we are that we have to sometimes hide when they are not in line with the ruling
majority. That is the opposite of standing up for who you are, and it is not
equal to the kind of “pride” one talks about when they refuse to walk away from
a bad situation. It would be hypocritical of me to tell him to be proud of who
he is, while appearing ashamed of who I am.</div>
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I want to raise my son to be someone that is not afraid to
be open and honest with himself, and about himself. No shame in liking what he
likes, loving who he loves, believing what he believes, and being whomever he
turns out to be. I cannot do that if I am not setting the example by being
that. How can I tell him to be open and honest about whom he is if I am hiding
a major part of me from him? How can I ask him to stand up for what he believes
if I am constantly censoring myself simply to keep from upsetting people that
do not like anyone different from themselves?
I can’t ask him to be these things if I am not also these things, or at
least trying my very best to be them.</div>
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So I will tell my son my beliefs. I will not shove them down
his throat, but I will present them to him exactly as they are -- my beliefs
and nothing more. I will not tell him he has to believe what I believe, nor
will I push him toward it. I will simply share what and why I believe what I
do, and encourage him to research and ask questions to find out what he thinks
is true or not. Believe it or not, it is possible to share an opinion with
someone without needing them to agree with you. </div>
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I will let him come to his own place, in his own time, and
in his own way. However, I will NOT send him off to church on Sundays, Vacation
Bible School during the summer, or anything else that I do not agree with or
would not want to attend myself. That is not opening him up to new ideas and
experiences, that is sending him off to be indoctrinated. I will not do that to
him. In fact, I will not allow him to attend these things until he is old
enough to ask to go because he wants to and not because a family member or
friend told him to ask after making it sound like going to the park for free
candy. Their intentions be damned.</div>
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So, no, I do not have any intentions of pointing my son down
a path I believe to be false and harmful simply because I walked that path to
get to where I am. That’s stupid, and in my not so humble opinion, bad
parenting. I am his father, and it is my job to teach him the lessons that I
have learned, not sit back in silence waiting for him to make the same
mistakes. I am to clear the paths that I walk in order to make the road he is
to start out on. That way he is not repeating my lessons (though many will be
repeated) and can focus on finding his own paths to clear for his children and
future generations.</div>
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One thing that is often brought up in parental conversations
is: “You were raised with religion, and you were able to come to your own
conclusions and leave it. Don’t you think your son should do the same? Shouldn't
you allow him to come to that conclusion the same way you did? Isn't it more
rewarding that way?” The short answer to that is “no.” The long answer to that
is, “Fuck no, you goddamned dolt.” You see, for [most] atheists that
deconverted from the religion they were raised in, it is fucking horrible
giving that up. We’re often accused of only being able to be atheists because
of a traumatic experience, when the truth is leaving behind the religious faith
we’d always known is extremely traumatic. Not just because of the fall out that
often happens with friends and family, but because that is giving up a core
part of your being. Mix that with being from a country in which odds are pretty
high that you will instantly become the black sheep (if you weren't already) by
no longer believing what everyone around you believes, and you've got one hell
of an internal battle going on inside your mind that should not even be going
on.</div>
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My response to this question is often countered by being
told it should be something that is difficult to go through and decide like
that. They say, “Whether or not you believe in a god is the most important
ideological decision anyone will ever make.” To which my palm magically
transforms into a placeholder for my face. Belief is not a choice, it is the
conclusion drawn from the data processed by your mind. But more than that, the
battle going on inside the mind is not whether or not to believe in a higher
power, but whether or not we should accept it. The fight is in trying to deny
the conclusion you've already come to, because it isn't the conclusion you
expected or that the people you love came to. It is in trying to hide it, and
in trying to make it go away so that you can just be normal [again] like
everyone else. I imagine it is quite similar to someone fighting the
realization that they are gay. At least that is what I have been told by LGBTQ
atheists and how it sounds when talking to LGBTQ friends about their
experiences coming to grips with finally admitting who they were to themselves.</div>
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I know many believe that in an ideal world, one would keep
their personal beliefs personal and let each other person in the world decide
what it is that they want to believe for themselves. Luckily, this is not that
ideal world, and very few people my son meets are going to keep their personal beliefs
personal. If they did, we would not have the literature that we have, the
music, movies, TV shows, etc etc. We would not have the art that we have. We
cannot grow without some kind of challenge, and we get that through sharing
personal parts of ourselves with one another. Granted, this is not always done
in the best of ways, but most of the time it is.</div>
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What is frustrating about this, is the knowledge that when
it comes to people who do and do not share their personal beliefs with him, it
is the atheists that are the least likely to share. Even those that know I am
an atheist are going to bite their tongue more often than not if the subject
arises around him. If they do share, it will not have any detail, because most
will not know what I believe other than what I do not believe, and have no clue
how social stigmas impact my parenting style. Plus it can feel pretty damn
uncomfortable sharing that with a child. Because you never know what parent is
going to get upset with you, you try to avoid speaking about them at all costs.
Hell, I don’t even talk about it with my brothers without feeling like I am
going to upset their mother. I will answer their questions, but I have never
told them to stop believing in a god because Christianity is all bullshit anyway.
No matter how much doubt they had at the time of coming to me, I never gave
them any kind of a push. Just encouragement to keep asking questions and
learning as much as they can in order to come to the most accurate conclusion
they can. Mostly, though, I let them know that no matter what, they were loved,
not alone, and would be okay. Their mother and my father and most everyone else
in our family are Christians, and not a single one of them would have spoken with
them in the same manner. Had they been approached by someone showing the kind
of doubts they have shown me, they would respond by telling them they are being
tested by Satan, telling them that they don’t really have doubts because they “know”
god is real, and whatever else they could think of to keep them from walking
away from Christianity. All with good intentions, and no realization at just
how cult-like it is to do that to someone.</div>
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I can’t blame them for that kind of thinking, though. If you honestly
believe people that do not have faith or belief in your god are going to burn
in Hell for all of eternity, and you do not try and warn them, you’re not a
very good person. I’m not talking about pushing something onto them long after
they have told you to stop, but just reminding them why they once believed or
offering them something you think might be super insightful in hopes of saving
them. Yes, I will get frustrated with this, and I will even make fun of you if
your “insight” is ridiculous enough. I won’t, however, lose respect for you so
long as you are being respectful in your presentation (which I cannot make fun
of you if you accomplish this). I understand that with this mentality, hearing
that an atheist is sharing their beliefs to someone at an influential age is
probably equal to someone trying to sentence your child to death, which I
imagine is scary as fuck. I can’t accept it as absolute, though. I cannot look
at the reasons, understand why they are this way, and then refuse to try and
change them. If I am to believe that someone with those beliefs should share
them with me, then I also have to believe that my opinions and beliefs should
be shared with them. Neither are any less important than the other. We need to
hear each other in order to accept each other and especially if we are to love
one another.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I am writing this, I am realizing so many ways in which I
still censor myself for others. I can no longer do this. I’m not going to start
running around telling every kid I see that there is probably no god, but I am
no longer going to avoid the question when a child asks (or anyone else for
that matter), regardless of whom the child is or who their parents are. I’m not
hiding it anymore.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYZpHnP-C4KvXsmQwsGXfRCE2p4ZUhnK47oLiwc17JNLBy-lLTcY4jH9r_X8gXPlCBoUw0pFNakzghAvMnQh0YXTfMgVBii3k9zcVEYq5wlCz6tfPjRnEo1VtGt-bfZWJHWd7smXdGuwg/s1600/185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYZpHnP-C4KvXsmQwsGXfRCE2p4ZUhnK47oLiwc17JNLBy-lLTcY4jH9r_X8gXPlCBoUw0pFNakzghAvMnQh0YXTfMgVBii3k9zcVEYq5wlCz6tfPjRnEo1VtGt-bfZWJHWd7smXdGuwg/s320/185.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">So long as he keeps smiling, I don't care what he does or does not believe in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*Atheism is not important to me as in it defines me, but in
that it is a major reason why I am as open and accepting as I am (or am not,
depending on who you ask). However, I do not believe it would be very important
at all if I were raised in a country that is predominately atheist. I've posted previously about this <a href="http://thebufferkiller.blogspot.com/2013/04/TalkingToAnAtheist.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://thebufferkiller.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-just-dont-think-god-is-necessary.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-62385973134925573882013-04-18T08:40:00.000-04:002013-05-10T02:14:58.852-04:00I just don't think god is necessary for living a good life.<br />
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In my <a href="http://thebufferkiller.blogspot.com/2013/04/TalkingToAnAtheist.html">last post</a> I talked about how most conversations pertaining to religion with an atheist (this includes talking to other atheists) tend to be why we do not believe in the religions we were taught and/or the other available religions in the world. What aspect of each we find ridiculous, immoral, and factually wrong. In all honesty, those conversations are nearly always the same, and I'm sick of them. Why I do not believe in a god or gods is irrelevant to who I am. Why I do not need to believe in a god or gods, however, is an insight into the true depths of the kind of human I am.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I want to try and explain why I do not need a god, rather than why I do not believe in any religion. Because this isn't a format that I am used to speaking in, or have ever heard/read, I apologize if it still comes across as why I do not believe in Christianity in many parts. I am most familiar with Christianity, so the examples I give will mostly be from that particular faith, though the claims are pretty universal when it comes to mainstream organized religion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here are six reasons I do not need a personal god. There are most certainly more than 6 reasons one would not need a personal god, but these are the first six that come to mind. They are anecdotal, yes, because they are about me and how/why I feel this way. They are not arguments for anything, or in any way trying to convince anyone to believe anything or not believe anything. Just a little insight into some of what makes me who I am.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>1.</i> I am happier and more confident without god.</b> Growing up a Christian in West Bumblefuck, Georgia meant "knowing" from the moment I was forming cognitive sentences, that no one could be happy without god. No one could be happy, or as happy as possible (how people are capable of quantifying their happiness in order to compare it to other happy people, is pretty fucking pretentious, and beyond me) without knowing that someone with the power to create the universe is watching over you. Watching, judging, waiting to punish you if you step out of line, "reminding" me that I am born a sinner and in need of forgiveness for being born exactly as the god I need forgiveness from created me, and offering a form of forgiveness that is only given if you ask. A god, that for all intents and purposes, loves you. That love is supposedly the only way to be truly happy. You cannot reach peak happiness without feeling the love of that god.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, I find that idea to be a bit silly, and cannot express how much happier I became when I let that idea go in the trash along with all of the other bad ideas I gave into as a naive child. Including believing Hunter Ethridge in the 4th grade when he told me lemon pepper made for great cologne. Yeah, I spent a full day telling creepy strangers at the mall I had no idea why I smelled so delicious.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Something I've learned, that contradicts with needing a god's love to be happy, is happiness should not depend on other people. I've observed this and been taught this, and many of those that have instilled this in me have been strong believers in a god, without realizing the contradictions of the two ideas. It's clear the idea of depending on anyone or anything other than yourself for happiness is lazy. The key, for me, is to find happiness in myself through the choices I make and actions I take. As far as the love of others goes, my happiness is not dependent on them, regardless of how affected by it I may sometimes be. This is why I choose to surround myself with people I can be happy alongside rather than people that I depend on to be happy or that depend on me to be happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not only do I find myself happier taking responsibility for my own emotional well being, but I find myself feeling so free knowing that I am not under the thumb of any deity. I am so very happy and proud of myself for still wanting to be a better person without the idea of reward after death. Actually, I find myself even more motivated to be a better person now that I have let go of the idea of heaven. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>2.</i> Identifying right from wrong is easier without god. </b>In every major theist religion there are rules for being a good person and making that god happy. Many of those rules are good rules, like not killing other people (though these kinds of rules almost always have loopholes). These "good" rules, however, are never more than common sense. The kind of people that need someone to tell them that killing other people is bad, are not very likely to A.) Care, or B.) Have the capability to live on their own and care for themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Many of these rules, however, are silly and/or morally corrupt. Rules about the fabrics you wear, how you cook your food or related to food in general, rules about hairstyle, etc.; are just ridiculous and completely ignored by most sane people. There are those, though, that are morally wrong. Not a matter of opinion, but actually WRONG. Owning slaves is wrong. Owning women is wrong. Beating a child for talking back is wrong. Getting away with rape by paying some money and marrying your victim (which in Christianity says the victim must be a virgin, which seems to be encouraging rapists to go after younger and more innocent women) is FUCKING WRONG. The list goes on to include saying who you can love and how you are allowed to love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So how does getting over the myth of god help me tell right from wrong more easily? Simple, it <b><i>allows me to decide for myself</i></b> what is right and what is wrong. I do not know anyone that openly believes rape is okay under any circumstance. Unfortunately, there are many people that look at the more ignorant and reprehensible rules/laws within their given religion and support it despite how they actually feel about it. I have family and friends that I love dearly, who are opposed to certain civil and human rights simply because their religion says they should be. They have no qualms with those their beliefs affect, and actually love and respect those people up until the point their religious beliefs tell them they can't. This is wrong. It is heartbreaking, and it brings me to my third reason why I do not need a god.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>3.</i> Love and Acceptance are actually easier without god. </b>As a believer I was constantly at war with who to love and who to accept, who to judge, and who to reject. I was a Christian, so I was told to love thy neighbor. Love everyone, accept everyone, and judge no one. Only god could judge. Only, the faith I was following and the teachers that were "educating" me in this faith all acted as if the lessons did not contradict the lesson of loving and accepting everyone. I was taught to avoid people of certain opposing faiths (or lack thereof), restrict civil liberties and human rights to those that did not follow certain rules I was told I must follow, and the list goes on. It always goes on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The thing I noticed the most during my first week of deconversion was how beautiful people were to me. Everyone was so beautiful. Every last person I saw or heard. I truly saw and heard people for the first time the day I realized I did not need a god. It was like having a filter removed from my vision and hearing that let me see people as more than rule followers and rule breakers. Let me hear more than just words wasting my time until it was my turn to speak. People are more than that. So much more. I was able to see the joy and pain in every face I passed, and realized how unimportant those religious rules truly were. People were not sinners; they were not good or bad based on what they believed, or who they loved.<br />
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Who they loved.<br />
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How could anyone ever think love a bad thing? I was a fool for ever thinking I could define love for anyone but myself. A goddamned fool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>4. </i>I am a better person without god. </b>Without the threat of punishment or reward, the good things that I do are more rewarding. When I believed, no matter how genuine my actions, I still had a thought in the back of my mind wondering if it helped or hurt my chances of getting into heaven. I was more likely to compare myself to other people. I felt the need to push my beliefs onto other people, and justified this with the assumption that there was no way their life could be fulfilling without god.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fear of punishment was a little motivating as a believer, and was always brought up in church. The fear is always there, even for the most fanatical believer. Especially for the most fanatical believers. But it wasn't the fear that really takes away from good deeds. It is the reward of heaven for being a good person. The very idea of being rewarded for worshipping a god is greedy. It is greed of the worst kind, because it is fighting for a reward so amazing it prevents you from truly enjoying the present. It turns good intentions into brownie points, and clouds judgment to the point of making us feel as if we know what is good, regardless of what those we are affecting think. As a believer I would have voted to take rights away from anyone that did not fall in line with my faith, not because I hated them for not believing what I did, but because I honestly thought it was best for them and they just didn't realize it yet. That was so very wrong. I’m ashamed of having ever had those thoughts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I'm even more honest without god. Most everyone has doubts of some kind, at least some of the time. My first serious doubts came around age 8 or 9, and I denied them until I was 20. During that time, I did a lot of lying. Which everyone does, I know. My lies, though, I feel now had a lot more to do with my denying my doubts than I thought possible back then. Once I admitted to myself that there was probably no god, I felt this feeling of relief and joy I had never felt before. It felt like what so many believers had told me the Holy Spirit felt. Only, the cause of my feelings was not caused by a placebo, but by me being completely honest with myself for the first time in 12 years. I openly admitted something I had been hiding for over a decade, and it felt amazing. Since then I have strove to be as open and honest about everything as I possibly can, and it has helped me become a better person. A much happier person, and the best Jason I have ever been.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>5.</i> I am smarter as an atheist. </b>I know it sounds arrogant to say, and can be taken as a ridiculously pretentious assumption. It’s true, though. I'm not saying myself or any other atheist is smarter than anyone else that isn’t an atheist. I’m not even saying I’m a very smart person. All I am saying, is that Atheist Jason is smarter than Christian Jason, and Christian Jason would have never come close to obtaining the same knowledge, insight, and genuine curiosity that I have as an atheist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It is my admitting to myself that there is no god that allowed me to admit that there are probably lots of things I did not know or that were probably not true, which eventually lead me to realizing that the amount of things I do not know is infinite. Realizing these things lead me to realizing all of my questions that had previously been answered with “god” no longer had answers. This is what lead me to reading more, learning more, and craving more knowledge in general. It pushed me to talk with more intelligent people about things I didn't know. It created discussions about things I would have never discussed, and that required me to do more than spout off a response that I thought sounded clever, but had nothing to back it up beyond my own misinformed opinion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you want to know the difference between Christian Jason and Atheist Jason, just talk to someone that knew me before I was kicked out of High School. I was not known for being very intelligent, at least not by very many people, and especially not by me. Today I am still no genius, but I'm not an idiot. I’m not known as an idiot. The friends I make and the women I date all mention my intelligence (don't even act like you haven't asked anyone the same thing) as the biggest reason for wanting to get to know me. Christian Jason was always told it was because he was "goofy."<o:p></o:p></div>
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Had I not let go of the idea of a god, I would not have had the same drive to learn and expand upon my knowledge. I know this is not the case for everyone, and being an atheist isn't going to make anyone instantly smarter or more driven. It did improve me, though. It took away my excuses for not learning. It took away my excuses for being lazy. It introduced me to people that inspired me to expand my mind, rather than shut my eyes to reality by telling me that everything that contradicts the existence of god is a lie by Satan that is merely testing my faith.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Being an atheist has taught me more about myself and the universe I live in than I could have ever learned in any religious text. Not because there is no knowledge within religious texts, but because there is no end to the knowledge outside of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>6.</i> There is no positive ideal/moral/value/philosophy that is unique to any religion. </b>There really isn't much more to say about this one beyond that one sentence. There are good things within most every religion, be it a monotheistic or polytheistic faith. There is no denying that fact. There isn't however, any one idea in any religion that would not or could not exist outside of that religion. People can debate what is positive and what is not, but I have yet to find anything positive in any religion that is not simply a quality of a good person.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, that’s it. I could go on forever with this, but who really has time to read all of that? Who would really care? The bottom line is there probably is no god, and I am okay with that, because a god isn’t necessary for living a good life as a good person.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-36096941093969493532013-04-11T01:03:00.000-04:002013-04-18T23:12:34.819-04:00Ask me about my wein -- errr... atheism. I meant atheism.<br />
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I am an outspoken atheist from a small town on the border of Georgia and Alabama. Because of this, the majority of those I know and care for have strong religious convictions that encourage them to talk religion with me. More often than not, those that I am approached by are Christians and
Jehovah's Witnesses (I am not counting the door knockers). I am rarely
approached by Jewish, Muslim, or Mormon friends/strangers (outside of door
knockers, which I am not counting) that wish to discuss religion, and I am not sure why to be honest. I suppose I just do not know as many of them. </div>
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In all of the times that I have been approached by strangers and loved ones that hold a religious belief, not once have
they ever wanted to talk about atheism. What it is like living without god. Why I am happier as an atheist, or even if I am happier. Often they will incite a discussion under the guise of curiosity about atheism, but the moment the conversation starts, they go
from feigning curiosity to simply waiting for their turn to talk so they can
say, "Well, you know the Bible says..." followed by some cliche line, common sense statement, or twisted interpretation they think will relate enough with me to say, "Hey! I think shooting children in the face is wrong too! Maybe I was wrong about this whole religion thing, gee golly pumpernickel pop," or do their best to convince
me that I subconsciously believe and am only saying I don't because of
traumatic experiences.<br />
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By the way, the assumption and accusation that I could only be an atheist if I experienced some kind of trauma that just made me angry is insulting in ways I cannot even begin to
explain. If you are a Christian or any other believer in a higher power, and you think like this, stop it. Stop it right fucking now. You may not realize it, but you are basically telling us we are petulant children throwing a tantrum. Idiots incapable of independent thought or self discovery. It is patronizing, infuriating, and shows a total lack of interest in the truth or who we are. I have never, not once, met a single atheist that claims trauma and anger as their reason for leaving their religion. Some may have had trauma or mistreatment give them reason to question and research, but it was not the reason. A catalyst is not a reason. Remember that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, back to the point of this post, all religious discussions end up being me
debating with the believer in ways that feel like a competition to see who
knows the most about THEIR belief system. The thing is, I have stopped trying
to learn more about their religion[s], because I do not believe in them. I do
not want to waste my time trying to learn more about something I do not believe
in, just to explain to other people why I do not believe in it. It’s
ridiculous. I do not need to justify or explain why I do not believe a fantastical claim that lacks ANY actual evidence. On top of that, not once has any of them shown any attempt at understanding
atheism. At most, there will be one or two that claim to have been atheists or
agnostic at one time, and then attribute that time to being angry at the world
or god or just following a fad. These people are often the ones that are the most positive that trauma is why we do not believe, while often stating that they found Jesus BECAUSE OF A TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE (What do you know? The trauma argument comes full circle). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just once I would like to have someone actually show an interest
in why I deconverted and/or what MY atheism is, and not because they want to try and reverse it. Someone
with an honest curiosity. You know, besides other atheists. We seem to be the
only ones interested in why and how we came to where we are, and our stories
are mostly the same. We often come from different levels of previous religious
belief, but almost all of us have an increased knowledge and understanding of
our previous religion as the reason we stopped buying into them. A sense of
truth over comfort, which surprisingly enough, is more comforting than the
comfortable lie we were force-fed as children. But more importantly than why or how we got to where we are, is who we are now. What things do we believe? What motivates us? Excites us about life? Where does our passion lie? Instead of throwing verse after verse at us in hopes of proving we misread something, ask us what we feel is a better alternative to religion for gaining the same benefits you are telling us you get from your faith.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My name is Jason Caldwell. I am 30 years old and have been openly atheist for 10 years. I do not care about the things I do not believe in, and do not owe anyone an answer for why I do not believe outlandish claims. I do not reject truth to protect my ego, and I do not need to believe in a supreme being to be a good person. I do not believe there is anything positive for humanity that is unique to religious faith. I enjoy sharing and learning what others believe and do not believe, but I do not enjoy being denied the courtesies that I give in discussions about personal beliefs and ideals. I am open about everything, and I do not filter my opinions to coddle the beliefs of others, nor do I expect or want anyone to filter their beliefs to coddle me.</div>
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Go ahead, ask me about my atheism. <a href="http://thebufferkiller.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-just-dont-think-god-is-necessary.html">Ask me why I do not need religious faith.</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-84255962938069972882013-03-18T23:19:00.000-04:002013-04-18T18:00:56.992-04:00Should have been mad, but I couldn't help but be proud!<br />
Today Xekan and I slept until the early afternoon. For someone on a third shift schedule and the parent of a two year old, this was glorious! But let me tell you WHY he slept so late...<br />
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I put him to bed around 9 last night, and he was being pretty needy -- insisting I stay next to him until he fell asleep. We read for a while, and then I told him it was time to sleep. After about 30 minutes of lying silently with him, I told him I was going to go to the living room and for him to go to sleep.<br />
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Two minutes after I closed the bedroom door, he came out of the room and asked me if he could listen to some music. He asks for music pretty often, and I will play the kids night time songs on Slacker Radio for him.<br />
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I started playing the music on our tablet, and he thanked me with a hug and kiss. Tucked him back in and left the room to clean and read some of my new book. I didn't hear a peep from him until I started to go in there at 3am to sleep.<br />
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He was awake... He had picked the tablet up from the floor, exited Slacker, and launched Netflix. I don't know how long he waited after I left the room before doing this, but it must not have been long, because the history showed that he had been watching A LOT of shows the entire time I thought he was sleeping. He was watching everything from Transformers to Chuck & Friends. He happened to be watching Chuck & Friends when I walked in.<br />
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I have not had the tablet long, have not ever let him watch Netflix on it, and certainly haven't shown him how to launch it and play show!<br />
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He just grinned and said, "Sorry daddy. Come lay down!" I tried to scold him, but I was too impressed to hide my prideful smile. I'm not really sure, but I think I owe him $50 now...<br />
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I didn't think to take a photo of him right then, but here are some taken over the weekend that are equally adorable.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurTd3vPyc_ZLPwm2vnBuruYtbT2F3oDm6Ge-qp75xazUga6wJWRxqBaA_Ex4WzfmKsoXCIxJMdHivHSElfgguBCByOfTBCotf3x9SdO7Uxje4JJyveSE9Fpr_mPqk1wLVeqIdnsyTPQLU/s1600/IMG_2775%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurTd3vPyc_ZLPwm2vnBuruYtbT2F3oDm6Ge-qp75xazUga6wJWRxqBaA_Ex4WzfmKsoXCIxJMdHivHSElfgguBCByOfTBCotf3x9SdO7Uxje4JJyveSE9Fpr_mPqk1wLVeqIdnsyTPQLU/s320/IMG_2775%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-1835956296605013162012-06-23T00:05:00.001-04:002015-03-17T02:07:31.059-04:00So long, and thanks for all the fish!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><i><b>The following is the email I sent to everyone I worked with at Intelliteach earlier today, my last day with the company. Had some email issues that didn't allow me to verify that the distribution list was properly up to date. Posting it here for those that might not have received it. This is by far one of the best places I have ever worked, so leaving wasn't easy.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">First of all: <a href="http://youtu.be/kfVsfOSbJY0" title="blocked::http://youtu.be/kfVsfOSbJY0">http://youtu.be/kfVsfOSbJY0</a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Now we can move on to the rest of the email.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Intelliteers,lend me your eyes!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As most of you know, today is my last day as an Intelliteer. It has been an amazing three years full great and often strange times that I wouldn't trade for anything. It is, however, time for me to move on and make some serious changes in my life. Before I go, I feel I should leave you all with 10 things I have learned during my time here:</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Remember the angry and insane calls you receive, not because they are stressful or frustrating, but because they are the most fun to laugh about later. You're getting paid for your ability to do something that caller cannot, and that gives you power over them. They hate that. Plus, you're making memories that will stick with you forever, while that person will not remember it anymore than every other moment in their frustrated existence. Enjoy laughing at them years from now.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Do not forget the nice calls, or that there are far more of those than there are bad ones. Especially on bad days, remind yourself that most of the people you speak with are good people, and that can make all the difference in your mood.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">When the Jeep rides, Tre and Stoph fight over who gets to drive - so you'd better wear a seat belt.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">If you have been wondering why Donnie McGuire reminds you of someone, but you just can't place it, that person is Matthew McConaughey. You're welcome.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">In the three plus years I have worked here, there has not been a single employee named Dave/David. For this reason, you should all know that Daniel Wang has been dubbed Dave for the rest of his life.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Seriously, there has not been a single Dave at this company in all that time. We have some really weird names, and even a couple of Curtis Williamses that were hired within a month of each other for the same shift, but not a single Dave. What does Intelliteach have against people named David?</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">If you have any questions about anything you can ever imagine, talk to Jordan about it. That man is either a cyborg or the victim of alien experimentation. No matter how obscure the subject, he's heard of it and can talk more in depth on it than anyone else you'll ever meet. I bet if you asked, he could even tell you why Applejacks do not taste like apples.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Even if you hate geek culture and all the traffic and mayhem that comes each year with Dragon*Con, go down there on your breaks and lunches to see the people that attend each year. You'll find no better place to people watch, nor will you find a better mass of individuals so unabashedly proud of the things they are passionate about, regardless of how odd most people may find it.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">If you ever find yourself needing to speak with DeJuan, do not look for him at his desk. He has an explosive device implanted in his skull that will explode if he stops moving for more than 10 minutes at a time, and so far medical science has not found a way to safely remove it.</span> <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Do not question The Great Christoph. He may seem like a laid back Penn Jillette, but will not hesitate to destroy you with his Viking fury. I once saw him use the skull of a toddler as a goblet, because he believes the tears of his enemy's orphaned children taste better when they are consumed from the place where nightmares live. So, I guess in that sense he's also a bit of a romantic.</span><o:p></o:p></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I'd also like to remind everyone that I officially give you all permission to add to your resumes that you had the honor of working with me, the most amazingly awesome person in the History of Ever. Consider it my gift to you, because I am a humble man, despite my God-like qualities.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">So to everyone:</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="http://youtu.be/GWbz_mIAShM" title="blocked::http://youtu.be/GWbz_mIAShM">http://youtu.be/GWbz_mIAShM</a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And I'd thank you for all the fish, but too many Intelliteers before me have already done that; so keep it classy, Intelliteach.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="http://youtu.be/1b26BD5KjH0" title="blocked::http://youtu.be/1b26BD5KjH0">http://youtu.be/1b26BD5KjH0</a><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b26BD5KjH0&feature=colike" title="blocked::http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b26BD5KjH0&feature=colike"></a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jason Caldwell</span></strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Team Lead and Hero of the People</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"Stay cool, my babies!" - Conan O'Brien<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"The key is to get to know people and trust them to be who they are. Instead, we trust people to be who we want them to be - and when they're not, we cry."- David Duchovny<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"I was born an old coal miner's daughter..." Regie Durana<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"Jason Caldwell is the greatest human being to ever exist." - Jesse Collins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"If you love life, don't waste time, for time is what life is made up of." -Bruce Lee</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"Knowledge is not wisdom." Sara Brown</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"I've never been one to treat every new person that I meet, as if they were anyone I've previously met." - Jesse Collins</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/bufferkiller" title="blocked::http://www.facebook.com/bufferkiller">http://www.facebook.com/bufferkiller</a></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="mailto:bufferkiller@gmail.com" title="blocked::mailto:bufferkiller@gmail.com">bufferkiller@gmail.com</a></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-17100017991494131262012-06-15T15:27:00.001-04:002013-04-18T18:06:30.202-04:00Somewhere along the way I took a different path than my sanity. I hope
we meet up again before our final destination.I enlisted in the United States Army in 2002. It was just after 9/11 and it seemed everywhere I turned people (mostly kids) were talking about enlisting out of patriotic duty. I wasn't one of those people. My friend David was, and a few months after 9/11 he came up to me all kinds of politically charged and said we should enlist in the Army. I didn't get pumped up like he was, and he seemed a little shocked when I shrugged and said I'd enlist with him as if he'd just asked if I wanted to go grab a slice of pizza. We went out a day or two later and talked with some recruiters. Both of us set on going infantry so we could better understand those we'd met that refused to talk about the things they'd seen and done, regardless of how badly others wanted to hear about it. Before going, though, my girlfriend at the time convinced me to go with something else. David was not swayed, and went infantry anyway (we've both agreed since then that we should have stuck together, regardless of the MOS). He shipped off to Basic and then his duty station a few months before I even left for Basic.<br />
<br />
During my time as a soldier I met many people, almost all of which had enlisted for reasons like David and I had. They were either in the group of patriotic Americans and children of strong military families, or they were in the group of people that just saw it as another job/stepping stone/career. Those of us that either had no other real options, needed money for school, or were just bored enough to want that kind of extreme change. I met only a handful of soldiers that seemed to join out of blind ignorance. They were soldiers that did not see the people our government said we were at war with as people. My friend Christine ended up in a Unit at Fort Bliss where she met a soldier that said he was eager to be deployed so he could kill the enemy. When she asked him why he felt they deserved to die, his response was, "Because they're different." <br />
<br />
That kid is a good example of the third group of people that enlist; and I'm glad I did not meet many people like him, and I know that the majority of the military is made up of good people with good hearts, doing what they feel is right and something they can be proud of. Whether it's just another job, or Patriotic Pride, most soldiers are no different than any other good-hearted person you meet each day. So to think of comparing them to Nazi soldiers is something that seems so insane that it never once even crossed my mind. Why would it? It just isn't apples to apples.<br />
<br />
But earlier today a friend shared this image with me on Facebook:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72450ps9d1Hs3p4U13yjWBaCR7gh08WiNfA5NRrTxV_YqZ1XJ0ExkRxXGrSHLaTrnEAKxKt1PCjPl5tL4qf1UHYfwYpWXBwCNbnWm4qfyj4IMsmO5tfFIX5c3nFqQ5rqfhEvqs_C-wUbr/s1600/overflow_5.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72450ps9d1Hs3p4U13yjWBaCR7gh08WiNfA5NRrTxV_YqZ1XJ0ExkRxXGrSHLaTrnEAKxKt1PCjPl5tL4qf1UHYfwYpWXBwCNbnWm4qfyj4IMsmO5tfFIX5c3nFqQ5rqfhEvqs_C-wUbr/s320/overflow_5.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div>This simple cartoon completely caught me off guard and gave me an entirely new perspective. Had the comparison been the soldiers themselves, and not the civilians supporting them, I'd have forgotten about it by the time I'd clicked onto another tab. But looking at those that support troops, despite being against the reasons for the wars the troops are fighting, just blew my mind for a few moments. I'd grown up reading and hearing about WWI and how horrible the Nazis were -- Hitler was evil, the Nazis were evil -- End of Story. But they were soldiers, and many of the civilians knew this. Just like most Americans know this about our soldiers.<br />
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Now, I cannot compare anything American soldiers have done to other countries in recent years to the Holocaust (though we really were not far off with the Japanese American Internment Camps of WWII). But considering the times, the information available to the soldiers, and what they'd been raised to believe; I can no longer think that they were all evil people doing evil things because they loved evil. I'm reminded of articles and interviews about former Nazi soldiers that were haunted by the things that they had done, and I now think that they might have been the majority, and not a small minority. I could very well be wrong, but I honestly see the similarities now. Doing things that they know are wrong, but feel are necessary steps to be taken in order to protect their families, their country, and to insure the very best for future generations.<br />
<br />
Now, don't go and take that last sentence out of context. Nothing justifies the horrible things that happen during times of war, regardless of which side you are looking at. No fucking excuse. However, that doesn't stop good people from doing unspeakably horrible things.<br />
<br />
This brings me to the point of this entry: Despite the cartoon being a jab at Americans in support of American troops, it gave me a new view of how people in other countries see us. I've always thought it was because we are, in comparison to other countries; the snarky, know-it-all teenager that has no impulse control and serious issues with needing attention. I know that many of the casualties of our wars have been innocent people that did not deserve the kind of pain and suffering they received [<i>Does anyone really deserve it?</i>]. I just never connected the dots between thinking about each person as an individual and thinking of the citizens of those countries as a whole. How the people whose countries we are fighting in may not see us the way people in other industrialized countries see us, or as religious fundamentalists do. Instead of seeing the snarky teen or the evil infidels that need to die in the name of Allah, what they see may be more akin to a Nazi with stars on their sleeve.<br />
<br />
I've grown to live with the annoyance of being seen as part of a culture that represents itself as the vapid teenager of the world. I'm even able to deal with religious extremists that think we should die for believing and acting differently from the ways that their ancient texts say we should act. This new view, though, that I am part of a culture that is also seen as I was raised to see the government and soldiers in Nazi Germany... I don't really know how to process this. Is this shame? Is this anger? Simply frustration? Perhaps all of these and more, I'm honestly not sure. <br />
<br />
My views of my fellow soldiers and Americans has not really changed. I still know that people are mostly good. I still know and believe that I am lucky to be living in a country as wonderful as America, despite what all of the political nutjobs (civilians as well as politicians) want us to believe during election years. I do not believe our government is inherently evil and out to destroy the country for money. I believe most politicians get into politics because they honestly want to help people; and that a mixture of power, ignorance, and greed can lead them astray. Those that do not succumb to these things, are not just bad people, but people with their hearts in the right place being directed by misguided personal beliefs and moral misconceptions. I'm just not sure what it is I'm feeling with this new perspective: We are seen by others the same way we were shown the Nazis and the Nazis were seen by many good people the same way our country sees our own soldiers.<br />
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As a soldier, I was never placed into a situation where I would have been asked or forced to commit any act that I felt was immoral. My actions as a soldier representing my country were always honorable. I did some stupid stuff, and I made some bad choices. None of then, however, were in the line of duty nor did they bring any kind of attention to my country or uniform. Just leftover teen angst and narcissistic self loathing still hanging around from my teens.<br />
<br />
I was still a soldier, though. When we think of the Nazi soldiers and how horrible they were, do we think about those that were placed in areas where they never had to fire a weapon or do anything other than sit around waiting for orders? Do we think, "Well, that soldier wasn't one of the bad ones"? No, they were a soldier in the Nazi army, so they deserve the same amount of contempt as every other anonymous Nazi soldier.<br />
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So how does one help to eliminate this kind of view of himself and his country? Where could the solution to something like this be hiding? In a Catch-22 of Politics. It always comes back to politics, and politics are the very reason we are seen this way in the first place. With a government bent on being the Alpha Dog in the eyes of the governments of all other countries (which many of those countries hold the same view of themselves), we have instilled in our citizens the need to be the center of attention. Not a very good quality to have, as it has made us one of the most vain countries on the planet. I am no exception to this.<br />
<br />
My intentions were not to write a political blog, and most definitely not to support or imply that I am anything other than a Centrist when it comes to politics; but this cartoon has taken my train of thought from a new view of myself, to political thoughts about how I can help change this stigma. With that being said, I'm going to briefly mention one of the GOP nominees from earlier this year: Ron Paul. I would not vote for him, nor will I ever vote for his son, because I think they are insane and unqualified for any political office. Ron did, however, have a few key points that I agreed with and one in particular that I feel applies to this topic (just not to the misguided extremes to which he talks about). That is staying out of the affairs of other countries. Plain, simple, and correct. I believe there are times to get involved, so long as money is not the reason. Anything that threatens our freedoms, for example. A war with an ally that is clearly going to spread into other countries and eventually our own; like with Genghis Khan, Napoleon, Nazi Germany, etc. Any other reasons for being involved are more than likely about power, and not about the welfare of the citizens of any country involved.<br />
<br />
This ideal is a good one. Stay out of things that do not concern or affect us, and stop being an attention whore. However, this is where I stop agreeing with Dr. Paul, and it is the last I'm mentioning of him in this entry. I do not want my thoughts getting lost in a sea of political bullshit.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So how does a country that has been hogging so much of the spotlight for so long, just walk away from it? Do we pull a Greta Garbo and say, "I want to be alone"? Do we just say, "Sorry about being a dick for so many years. We promise to be nicer from now on"? Or do we just say, "I'm out" and drop the mic like a boss? Even more important than that, though, is whether or not we can step back without any negative repercussions from countries that we may have pissed off over the years.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Unfortunately, before we can make any drastic political changes like this, we must instill in our children/citizens the need to be informed above the need to be famous and/or popular. We need to teach/remind everyone how to think instead of what to think, so that we can improve the system in which we educate one another. It isn't enough to vote when the people that should be in charge are not eligible to run for office because of the experiences of their childhood that helped shape them into someone with the understanding needed to hold that political office in the first place. We need to teach the importance of making decisions and forming serious opinions using reason, logic, and thinking of everyone affected in place of using emotion and selfish personal beliefs. While we still have political parties that strive to separate our nation to the point that even talking about politics is considered a social taboo, rather than having qualified representatives working together [with and for the people] to make life better for everyone, voting will not be enough. We need a new standard in what qualifies someone to hold political office; and it needs to start with removing the idea that no one can do it better than a rich white man. Being a lawyer, a doctor, successful business man, or any other profession that is common among politicians is not enough. Yes, being in any of those positions will help with being able to speak well and/or argue any opinion you may have as it relates to the topic at hand. They have traits that make them great at telling people what they want to hear in order to get their support. These are all great traits to have in a politician, but what about these professions implies that they are actually qualified to speak so confidentially about anything outside of their profession? How does a business man, OBGYN, or Intellectual Property lawyer become an expert in global economics, international relations, or military strategies if they have never been a global economist, studied international political policies, or been a military strategist? We can find similarities in the thought processes of each of these, but why are we choosing people with jobs that have a McDonald's version of the experience needed in place of people that are actual experts in those fields? Why vote for Dane Cook when we could have Louis CK?</div><div><br />
</div><div>This is the loop that my sleep deprived, caffeine crashing brain has been trapped in today, all because of one tiny sentence in one goddamn political cartoon someone shared with me on Facebook.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-75170729193712650382011-11-25T23:12:00.000-05:002011-11-25T23:12:04.299-05:00Bored at work, annoyed with people on Facebook, and sick of having a broken rib.I feel like I need to post something since it has been a while, and the last entry I started, I was unable to finish before the inspiration and motivation left me. Maybe after posting this one and a couple others, it will come back to me.<br />
<br />
I think I'll make this entry about a recent Facebook group I made for the friends in my list. I tend to lose a few friends a week because of my posts about atheism and/or anti-religious stances. It is frustrating, but it happens. Oh well.<br />
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Recently, though, I have been losing good friends not because I'm an atheist that likes talking about it, but because of the other atheists that post on my posts. Most of the time I have not posted anything, and they have just taken whatever asshole comment someone else says as my own. That's bullshit! I am not my friends, or anyone else I know. I do not believe in a God, and many of my friends do not believe in a God. That is one thing we have in common, and says very little about who we are. Do not assume I share their opinions on anything, just because we agree on one thing. That is a stupid thing to do.<br />
<br />
I created a group to put some of my more religious friends in. Mostly for the ones that seem to get attacked whenever they make a post on something I have posted; but also because I'm sick of getting these dramatic posts on my wall from people I've known since childhood, telling me that they just cannot take my atheist posts anymore. They are just too much for them to handle, and they will still be praying for me and they still love me. They just don't, you know, want anything to do with me. It fucking sucks, and is so frustrating and discouraging.<br />
<br />
So I made this group and started putting in people that are offended by atheism. Also, anyone that said they wanted in there because religious posts from anyone is annoying, and they'd rather just look at the funny things that I post.<br />
<br />
I got quite a few messages from people thanking me, and telling me I was a good friend for doing this. They were all nice, and so sincere. They were happy I was hiding atheist things from them, not protecting them from senseless attacks from strangers on the internet.<br />
<br />
I feel so weak, pathetic, defeated, and hypocritical. Sick to my stomach.<br />
<br />
Why does hiding a major part of who I am make me a good person? When did I do something to make anyone believe I was a bad person? How is my not being able to believe in something that has no evidence that it even exists, a bad thing? Not only does it not have any evidence to support it whatsoever, but what knowledge we do have about the universe, is evidence to the contrary of what religion claims. So why is my preferring the truth over fiction, preferring to be good without threats, preferring to love without rewards, preferring to seek knowledge over ignorance; such a horrible thing? I am fucking proud of these virtues. Being thanked for hiding them is disgusting. Becoming too tired to do otherwise, is depressing me.<br />
<br />
Let's set that aside, though. Lets excuse their wanting me to keep that to myself as people needing to believe in something for comfort, and not being able to handle any criticism about it. That's understandable, and I am not going to hate on someone for not having faith enough to handle it. I just see that as someone who knows what they believe is bullshit, but they really need the comfort is gives them. I will respect that to an extent. I'll twist some justification out of it.<br />
<br />
With that set aside, what still eats at my core is none of the people upset over my atheist posts have thought to make a group that hides their religious posts from people like me. Especially when the updates are excusing hateful and bigoted comments about people of a certain race, sexuality, belief system, country, etc. Or how about the constant posts that these people make about how horrible the father's of their children are, how they hate drama (yet post about nothing else), how they have so many haters (apparently their haters do not understand that they are "REAL and not FAKE"), etc. It saddens me to know that people their age still act and think like that.<br />
<br />
Sure, I can block the posts from my news feed and/or delete these people. Simple solution. Well, I have done that. If I don't like the posts someone makes, I block the posts. If I don't like the person, they are removed from my list. That is done. I do, however, go through my list and try my best to keep up with everyone on it. Commenting on photos, links, updates, etc. What's the point in having them on my list if I don't communicate with them at least a little? That's just weird. I don't add people just to add to the number of friends I have, I do it to keep in touch, catch up, and network. I'm damn good at it, too. You'd be hard-lucked to find someone in my list that I can't tell you about. When searching for something to comment on, however, I have to sort through a ton of bullshit. Same things over and over. I make it a point to post more generic and/or humorous things than religious/political so that others do not have to endure the same thing with me. Doesn't take a lot of effort.<br />
<br />
The thing is, the ones that get the most upset over what I post, are the ones that I talk with the most. That means they are the ones that know me the best. The ones that [should] know that I am not some evil asshole out to make everyone feel like shit. They know that I am a good person, that I love everyone I meet until given reason to do otherwise. Yet, they forget everything they know about me the moment I say. "I do not believe in God; but I do believe in treating all humans equally regardless of their faith, race, gender, sexuality, or nationality. People should be judged by their actions, not their thoughts."<br />
<br />
Funnily enough, they are also the ones that talk the most about how horrible their relationships and jobs are. They blame other people for what goes wrong, they thank God for what goes right and the most ridiculous things ever, and they constantly say the most retardedly cliche things as if they are deep insights that no one else has ever thought before. Things that I ignore when I can't think of anything nice to say. In fact, everything I say outside of my wall is always really nice. Even if I am disagreeing with someone, or correcting them when they say something factually wrong. Or I explain why voting against someone without knowing who will be running against them, is a dangerous thing to do when based on an incorrect assumption about an irrelevant personal thing of the candidate that they oppose. This is even more frustrating since I choose to not vote, and do not care who they vote for and just wanted to help them be more informed so they didn't regret their choice after it was too late to change their mind.<br />
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Fuck it. The more I type and read back what I'm typing, the more I realize I'm the only one trying to maintain these relationships. If their idea of trying to maintain a relationship is praying that I'll stop seeking knowledge and start believing in fairy tales, then let them leave. Let them block me, delete me, or even tell me how horrible I am for thinking the Bible is bullshit; even though they agree with me on every other religion being bullshit.<br />
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This is the worst entry I've made yet, but it is the one that has felt the most therapeutic. The next one will likely be about religion, and how I came to realize that I am an atheist. Also why I choose to call myself an atheist.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-10292615124789232702011-09-18T05:07:00.000-04:002011-09-18T05:07:31.978-04:00Choices SchmoicesLiving in the Bible Belt, the topic of homosexuality comes up quite a bit. Seems to be a favorite among rednecks and the religious right.<br />
<br />
One of the things that comes up the most in this, is how homosexuals choose to be homosexuals. It is among their most used arguments for anything that does not agree with what they do/think. This is especially funny (by which I mean annoyingly frustrating), since none of them made the choice to be straight, religious, etc.<br />
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My normal response to this is as follows:<br />
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<b><i>If sexuality were truly a choice, I would be gay.</i></b><br />
<br />
Quick, simple, and to the point.<br />
<br />
If not the person I am talking to, someone who heard will always ask me, "Why?"<br />
<br />
I don't say that just to shut up the person I am talking to, because it is a very true statement. One that I was still not comfortable enough to admit until a year or so ago (mostly because I was afraid it would make me sound bitter for being straight, and belittle how amazing my wife and [now also] son are). Also, the people that ask why, are not always anti-gay. Some are very passionate supporters of gay rights, and some are even gay themselves. I always stumble around my answers, and do all I can to avoid it. The situation is never one in which I can really explain why, and I am not always comfortable opening up that much with every person that brings up that lame argument of choice when there is no choice.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try and explain now, though.<br />
<br />
Like most awkward children growing up, I felt different from everyone else. Like an outcast that didn't fit in, or belong to any group of people. Also, like most children growing up, I had no clue that pretty much everyone else at the time felt this way. Perhaps that can be contributed to how easily we all got along and played in the first 5 to 6 years of our lives, before we learn to segregate ourselves based on things that are almost always beyond our control; at which time we only notice ourselves being shunned, and see everyone else as still going about in total bliss.<br />
<br />
Whatever the reasons, it was around this time (the end of 2nd grade) that I truly started to feel different from everyone else. Home life wasn't ideal, but what child of the 80s and 90s can really say their home life was ideal? I was another product of the times. A child with divorced parents being raised by his grandparents. As I got older, I discovered this was far more common in my area than the typical nuclear family.<br />
<br />
I was one of the shy kids that didn't know where the middle ground was between being super shy, and being the obnoxiously loud class clown (this did not change until I was in my early 20s, and even now I often have difficulty). I had a couple of friends, but no matter what group of friends I was with, I was always the odd one out. Too skinny, too much of a sissy, too weird, etc. If I was with the athletic friends, I was too analytical of everything (a.k.a. nerd), and with the smart kids I was too dumb. I only really felt accepted when hanging out with my aunt, but she was getting older (she is 5 years my senior) and her older friends all treated me like a baby, which is something people do far too often to those younger than themselves. I really can't think of too many things more frustrating than someone talking down to you because you are younger than they are.<br />
<br />
I spent the rest of my academic career like this. Finding a group of friends, and feeling just a tad bit out of place with them. The older I got, the more dumb and broken I felt. I was in and out of special ed until someone mentioned I might have a learning disorder that medication would help, and then I spent the next decade medicated with little to no follow-up by the doctors giving out the pills.<br />
<br />
But now I'm getting ahead of myself.<br />
<br />
When I was around 10 to 12 years old, I started seeing talk shows that were talking to gay men and women; and noticing movies dealing with discrimination against homosexuals. I watched and listened to these people explaining why they should not be hated for who they are, so long as they are not hurting anyone. It made sense to me, but no one around me seemed to agree. At least not anyone that was vocal about the subject.<br />
<br />
After a while, I noticed how diverse these groups of people being interviewed were. How open and accepting they seemed to be of everyone, regardless of where they were from, what they believed in, what color their skin was, etc. They didn't even care if you were gay or straight, just so long as you were yourself and open to loving and accepting everyone for who they were. And on top of everything, not a single one of them seemed to be shy once they were openly vocal about their sexual orientation.<br />
<br />
That was all I needed. It was what I had been searching for: A group that wouldn't make me feel weird, that wouldn't see me as the dumb kid, or the eccentric boy talking to rocks. They were like hippies that shaved and bathed.<br />
<br />
But I had no clue how to contact any gay groups for the West Georgia area, and Atlanta was a long way for a 12 year old to ride his bike.<br />
<br />
Then one day I overheard my mother and sister talking. My sister was on the couch, and our mother at the sink in the kitchen. I don't know how the conversation started, but the parts that I caught were all about me and my sexuality. Apparently my sister thought my being too shy to speak to girls was a sign that I was gay. Now, coming from the area that we do, and knowing how most everyone we knew reacted to things back then, I was shocked to hear our mother say it didn't matter if I was gay or not. She said it was my choice, and no one else's. My immediate reaction was to come out of the hallway and tell them I wasn't gay... Which I did. I felt like someone being blamed for a fart that wasn't theirs, only looking more and more guilty as they tried to deny it.<br />
<br />
The comment stuck with me for a long time, though. It was <b><i>my choice</i></b>. So I made that choice. I decided if I couldn't fit into a heterosexual world, I was going to fit into a homosexual one. I just needed to figure out how to make myself like dudes.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, that's damn near impossible. I'd like to say it is impossible, but I've met some people that can convince themselves into believing just about anything.<br />
<br />
I knew not to call myself gay, because that would get me beat up more than I was already getting beat up, and it would likely be a lot more brutal. I'd seen an episode of Hard Copy (could have been another late night show), that talked about the death of Brandon Teena. I wasn't about to get myself killed over something I had not yet become.<br />
<br />
I tried to make myself think about men in the same manner that I thought about women (which was all the fucking time). I couldn't do it. The thought of being with a man physically, even before I had ever been with a woman, was disgusting. You could just say the word "woman" and my mind was instantly filled with the most perverted thoughts imaginable, while my bodily was immediately looking for a place in which to release these thoughts. Try to throw a guy into the mix, and my penis would try to crawl backward inside of me in order to rip out my intestines and shove them out of my ass. The thought of anything entering my butthole made me want to cry, and hesitant to even go to the bathroom.<br />
<br />
It just wasn't happening.<br />
<br />
I eventually gave up trying to be gay, and gave into my obsession with women. Then it happened again. Two people talking about my sexuality while they thought I was passed out drunk. When I was a kid I was gay for not talking to girls. Then, as an almost adult, I was gay because of the number of women I was with. Apparently I was overcompensating, rather than being a young guy doing what all young guys want to do.<br />
<br />
Maybe they were right. Maybe I was overcompensating for regressed feelings that I was unable to bring to the surface on my own. Perhaps I needed to experiment to find out the truth. To bring the Gay out of me, so I could be who I'd always wanted.<br />
<br />
Yeah, that didn't work. That didn't even come close to working. In fact, all that did was show me how gross other men are, and how easily my lifestyle and personal hygiene could easily be called "girly" in comparison. Men are filthy whether they are straight or gay, and it makes me glad I was raised in a home full of women. Seriously guys, you're all fucking gross.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until I had a conversation with a homeless man (I recommend talking to any homeless person that has not asked for money, given a long bullshit story, or that has something for sale that isn't stolen; like flowers. They'll share a wisdom and outlook with you, that no one else can or will) outside of a bar near Ft. Gordon, that I truly accepted my heterosexuality. He told me how, when he was a kid, his parents sent him to one of those camps that are supposed to make gay children straight. No matter how hard those children tried to be straight, or even how straight they acted; at the end of each day, they were still gay. The only thing they were learning, was how to deny what they were, and how to convince others that their denial was truth.<br />
<br />
Then he asked me why I'd want to put myself through the same thing, just to get onto the underdog's team.<br />
<br />
Three things hit me then:<br />
<br />
<i>1. I didn't need to be a part of any group, especially if it meant changing who I was.</i><br />
<i>2. I am was more comfortable sitting on a sidewalk talking with a mentally unstable homeless man like Phillip, than I was inside the bar behind us.</i><br />
<i>3. The only choice in sexuality, is the choice to accept or deny who you are. A gay man having straight sex, is still a gay man; and there are a lot of straight people in prison willing to confirm that gay sex doesn't make someone gay.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
That night I stopped wondering if I was secretly gay, and just unaware, and realized I'm just too fucking awesome to fit into any one group.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>For anyone that may be reading this and thinking my explanation for why I wanted to be gay but couldn't, is just anecdotal bullshit that does nothing but show how my mind is a little warped and broken; I am posting links below.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.pnas.org/content/103/28/10771.long">Biological versus nonbiological older brothers and men’s sexual orientation</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://serendip.brynmawr.edu/exchange/node/33">The Science of Homosexuality</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2004/03/040309073256.htm">Biology Behind Homosexuality</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://allpsych.com/journal/homosexuality.html">Homosexuality: Nature or Nurture</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.cracked.com/funny-883-homosexuality/">Because I can't not post a Cracked article</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com3Kennesaw, GA, USA34.0234337 -84.61548970000001233.9827127 -84.648467200000013 34.064154699999996 -84.582512200000011tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-5731413703710035772011-09-16T00:15:00.000-04:002011-09-16T16:41:13.070-04:00AssumptionsThere are a lot of assumptions that are made about me all of the time. For instance, whenever someone I know discovers Goatse for the first time (yes, there are still people that have not even heard of this), they send it to me with a message saying that it made them think of me and they knew I'd love it.<br />
<br />
What. The. Fuck. ?. !.<br />
<br />
I've never done anything to make people think that I'd enjoy something like that. At least, I hope I haven't. Sad thing is, that isn't even the worst of the disgusting fetish shit on the Internet that people have sent to me. Just the most well known.<br />
<br />
The truth is, I don't search for links to anything anymore. I haven't in years. I don't have to, because people are constantly sending them to me. Everyone else does the work for me. So the content of the things that I post should really be judged by the people that share them with me, and I should get thanked for filtering out the things that I do. ;)<br />
<br />
Another example of this is my views on Politics. It is constantly assumed that I am either Liberal or a Libertarian. Occasionally I'll get someone that seems to think that I am a Conservative. I am not any of those things. I am anti-political party. If I had to be labeled a party, it would be a Centrist. Which roughly means I fucking hate Political Parties, and think that the idea of choosing ONE party with any kind of agenda, to run our country; is fucking retarded. Each is flawed, each is wrong; and the lesser of any evil, is still evil.<br />
<br />
It is rare to find anyone that is as knowledgeable about the entire Political System (each candidate, what is being voted on, how each option will truly affect our country, what claims being made are true, why the promises made cannot be kept immediately if at all, etc.) as they claim to be. I'd go so far as to say that NO ONE is as knowledgeable as they claim to be. Politically charged people spend way too much time finding reasons why opposing opinions and ideas will not work, rather than actually testing and truly researching the ideas and opinions of all sides to determine why this or that will or will not work. Meeting in the middle just isn't going to happen, even though that is where the answers are waiting. It is no different than the way religious people spend more time justifying their beliefs to others, than actually trying to understand why they believe what they do.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Religion...<br />
<br />
Religion was the inspiration for this entry. Or, at least, the subject of religion helped to inspire this entry. I'm an Atheist, and the worst assumptions about me are made by other Atheists. Many seem to take my view of religion as being one of Hate and Animosity. While, yes, I do feel that way when it comes to religion and certain subjects that it boils over into; I do not hate the Belief in any God or Gods. If Religion was just a belief system held by people, that had no impact on my life, I would not care about it. Atheists like me get asked all the time why we even care what others think, and then not given the chance to really explain. Usually assumptions are made that we have some cliche reasons for it. That just isn't true at all. At least not for me.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">My issues with Religion are not at all with the belief in something that doesn't exist (or that cannot be proven to exist), but with using those beliefs to push an unethical agenda onto others. Using a politician's religious beliefs to convince others to vote or not vote for them, regardless of their stances are on relevant topics; is wrong. Using Religion to influence any kind of government decision, and </span>ostracizing everyone else with any kind of belief system that does not match it; is wrong. Using Religion to define a personal and spiritual commitment between two people, and then making it law so that any two people making that commitment outside of the guidelines set by said religion are unable to make this commitment; is fucking wrong. If Religion is going to have the right to define what marriage is, then the Government should not reward people that are married with financial and legal benefits. Forcing schools to teach the "Theory of Intelligent Design" instead of Evolution, is so retarded I shouldn't even be mentioning it. A public school is paid for with tax dollars from the American public, and they do not all believe in Fairy Tales, and should not have to pay for it. We deserve to have the truth taught to our children, and any religious views taught at home and church. And do the people that call their faith "The Theory of Intelligent Design" even know what a Theory is? No. The answer to that question is "No."<br />
<br />
All of those things [and more] impact my life on a daily basis, and have nothing to do with belief itself. Believe in your God, Love like your God says you should love, follow any rules your God gives you (so long as they do not involve forcing your bullshit on others), and keep it to your fucking self. If you want to discuss it with someone, then do so (and allow others to respond), but do not try to force those views on others.<br />
<br />
Now for the Atheists that take my being an Atheist as a sign that says, "Hey everyone! I'm an Activist and Extremest in the name of Atheism! My goal is to make you feel stupid because I'm right, and you're wrong!"<br />
<br />
That's bullshit. I'm far too lazy and narcissistic to be an Activist or Extremest for anything. I can't even stop eating at Chic-Fil-A to protest their support of Anti-Gay organizations. I know they are not Anti-Gay, and that they do not support those organizations for their Anti-Gay beliefs, but for the other things they support. But they should understand that when you financially support someone/something, you have to make sure you support EVERYTHING that they do. I know this, but I can't stop eating there. Have you had their Chicken Club Sandwich or Nuggets and Polynesian Sauce? That shit is amazing! You can't taste hate. But if you can, and it tastes like Polynesian Sauce, then I might have to reevaluate my entire outlook on Life.<br />
<br />
I digress. That's a subject for another day. What I'm getting at here, is that just because I don't believe in God, does not mean that I automatically want to team up with other Atheists to attack the religious without just cause. Hell, I don't even want to do it with just cause. At least not for being religious. If they are protesting abortion clinics or protesting against homosexuality, then fuck yeah I want to attack them. But that is their personality and social mentality more than their religious faith. Their faith is just the excuse they use to justify their hate, ignorance, and fear of the things that they do not understand.<br />
<br />
I don't want to be known as Jason the Atheist. I'd much rather be known as Jason. Just Jason. If I had to be given a title, I'd hope to get something better than Jason the Atheist. Something like Jason the Writer, Thinker, Engineer (if I ever finish my degrees), Scientist (again if I am ever able to finish my degrees), or perhaps just Jason the Awesome.<br />
<br />
I have no agenda, and I do not want to be lumped into anyone else's agenda based on one asinine opinion that we may have in common.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-52982063232915021002011-08-23T23:04:00.000-04:002011-08-23T23:04:59.627-04:00When I grow up, I want to be...<i>This is actually a journal entry to myself, that my wife said I should post here.</i><br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">When I was a kid, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Every kid is asked that at several points in their life. Most know what they want right then, but forget and change it later. Laugh about it when they're older, and think about how much simpler life was when they just wanted to be a fireman, athlete, ballerina, rockstar, movie star, etc. Others aren't sure what they want to be when they're children, and more never figure it out as adults.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some, though, know what they want from the start, and they never lose focus. They become exactly what they wanted, and they do not let anyone or anything, get in their way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like many others, I'm somewhere in the middle of all of that. I knew very early what I wanted to be, and I never forgot it. But I lacked the motivation and fortitude to work toward it. I let myself let myself give up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I was a kid, and I was asked for the first time what I wanted to be when I grew up, I didn't hesitate to let everyone know that I wanted to be a Mad Scientist. My aunt will still bring it up every now and then and we'll all laugh.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I still want to be a Mad Scientist when I grow up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The first time I said it, everyone laughed. Not in a teasing me kind of way, but in the way people laugh when a kid says something unexpected and adorable, because you feel they're too young to truly understand what they are saying (something we never stop doing to anyone younger than us, or newer to something than we are). I held on to this answer until someone closer to my age asked me why I wanted to be a bad guy, and then the laughing started making me feel embarrassed. I thought I had chosen the wrong thing to be. No one else at school wanted to be any kind of scientist.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wish now, I could have had the confidence to explain what I thought a Mad Scientist was. Maybe if I had, I would be one now. Don't worry, though, I do not dwell on “maybes” and “what might have beens” like this sounds. I wouldn't have the experiences that helped me to build the confidence and philosophical mindset that I have now, if I'd lived any of those other possible lives.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I first said I wanted to be a Mad Scientist, I was not thinking about an evil man in a lab coat creating homicidal grunts to do my evil bidding. What I was thinking about, was the scientist that did what all other scientists said was impossible. Creating portals through time, into other worlds, genetically engineering creatures that would not exist otherwise; genetically altering people to be stronger, faster, healthier, and happier. Creating life from the lifeless. Regenerating lost limbs, curing Cancer and AIDS (both of which were always on the TV in the 80s. AIDS especially). Finding ways to make people invisible, to pass through solid objects, move faster than light. I wanted to do all of the things that every scientist in every science fiction show has done since the first science fiction show was ever written. Crazy things and not so crazy things. I just wanted to do what I'd been told couldn't be done.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wanted to be like Dr. Frankenstein, Doc Brown, Dr. Jekyll, Albert Einstein, Nicola Tesla, Dr. Who, and even the man that built Inspector Gadget. Pretty much everyone that I saw when watching television with my grandfather, or heard about while he and my grandmother played pinochle with their friends.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The older I got, the more I learned about these people, and the more I wanted to be like them. In my entire academic career (which isn't saying much), I have only written 5 essays. One about Baseball that I wrote on the bus ride to school the day it was due (which I'm proud to say I lost points on it, because Mrs. Bryant thought I copied it straight out of the fake sources I listed), one about the movie Blade for my GED test, one about the effects drug abuse during pregnancy does to the child later in life, and two about Albert Einstein. It would have been one about Albert and one about Tesla, but Tesla was taken the second time around and I was allowed to choose Einstein again. One about his life, and who he is; the other about his theory of relativity. Neither of them got me any kind of attention, nor did they say anything about my level of intelligence at the time. I only mention them, because I wrote them. I was a poor student, and I had trouble doing any kind of homework. I was not lazy, and it did not bore me because I was too smart for it. I just couldn't do it, because I wasn't excited about it. But learning about these people I'd always wanted to be like, was exciting and inspiring. I didn't have trouble focusing, or finding the words to use. I probably didn't format them correctly, or present the subject matter in the order that one should present it; but I was excited and motivated enough to do it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now I'm almost 30 years old, and with each passing day, I want more and more to be that Mad Scientist that I gave up on as a child. When I turn on my television and see Dr. Michio Kaku talking about how many of the impossible things I dreamed doing, are theoretically possible, I get excited. I change channels and then see Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson talking so passionately about space exploration, black holes, and the creation of our Universe; I get so excited I want to cry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am 28 years old. I am an aspiring writer and Mad Scientist. I have only a GED, almost no formal education beyond the 9<sup>th</sup> grade, and a boat load of imagination. Before my son's second birthday, I will be on my way to becoming that Mad Scientist I said I'd be when I was 4. I will no longer be just a dreamer with goals I'm afraid to follow. I will finish a book. I will get it published. I will earn a bachelor's degree in Mechatronic Engineering, and then a PhD in physics (I'll decide which as I learn more about them all).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Liberation Serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lohit Hindi"; mso-bidi-language: HI; mso-fareast-font-family: "WenQuanYi Micro Hei"; mso-fareast-language: HI; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I will also own a Delorean DMC-12.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-1157275727905508872011-08-23T23:01:00.000-04:002011-08-23T23:01:58.044-04:002:30 am, walking my dog, staring at the sky.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">When I look up at the night sky and see that bluish, grayish, black sky; with tiny specks of light scattered across it, in the most genuinely random of places, I do not see anything special. I am not impressed by something I can recreate with a flashlight and felt. I see nothing special in giving shapes, names, meanings, and mystical purposes to the twinkling dots above me. Seeing that means nothing to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The thing is, when I look up at the sky, what I just described isn't what I see. I have to take a step back from myself to see that. When I look up, I see the vast distances between me and each of those lights. I think of how the planet I am standing on has roughly 196,940,400 square miles of surface on it, and how we have yet to explore all of that. And how that space is less than an insignificant fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fucking fraction, compared to even the space between me and one of those tiny little specks I see.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think of how that tiny little light flickering above me, is really a burning ball of gas so large and powerful, that it has the potential to create life, heavy metals and elements that cannot be created anywhere else; and it has the power to destroy them unlike anything else in the Universe. I see what may be the final smile of that powerful star, long after it has ceased to exist.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I see a universe so large, my mind cannot comprehend or even see all that it truly is. I see thousands of the possible 70 sextillion + stars in the Universe. Stars exactly like the one[s] that died in order to create our solar system, our planet, life, and the air that I breath. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I look up at the night sky, I do not see tiny specks of light twinkling back at me from behind a bluish, grayish, black sky. I see the true creators of life. I see the future of mankind. I see more than stars, and emptiness in between. I see the mothers of creation, stars that are, on an atomic level, related and connected to me and everyone else on this planet; and that is fucking beautiful. Truly fucking beautiful.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-83569532071404137872011-07-30T17:42:00.000-04:002011-12-20T21:44:54.711-05:00About the 11 September 2001 Memorial Museum and Being an Atheist in AmericaI am a Baptist raised guy from a small town in West Georgia. Son of an evangelical minister, that somehow ended up back in The Bible Belt. I have more Reverends, Pastors, and Preachers in my family; than I do relatives with College degrees (I might even go as far as saying High School Diplomas). Went to church every Sunday growing up, and voluntarily every Sunday and Wednesday night throughout the majority of my teen years.<br />
<br />
I am an Atheist. In the words of the late Douglas Adams, I am a Radical Atheist. This merely means that I go one step beyond not believing in a God, in that I am convinced there is no God. I've no agenda, or even a care as to what anyone else chooses to believe in. Only how they choose to believe it, when that method of believing pushes outside their home and mind, and into my pocket and the Government that oversees the country that I live in.<br />
<br />
I am not an Atheist because I prayed for something and it didn't happen. I am not an Atheist because I don't believe a God can exist while there is so much pain and hate in the world. I am not an Atheist because of some traumatic experience I had when I was younger. I am not an Atheist because I want to rebel against my family and upbringing. The most religious of my family, and the ones with the strongest knowledge of the Bible, are the ones that are the most understanding and easiest to talk with.<br />
<br />
I am an Atheist because I read the Bible. I am an Atheist because I chose to research, fact check, and verify the claims I was told to believe as a child. I am an Atheist because I have to be. It isn't a choice. I cannot choose to believe something I know to be a lie. I cannot force myself to shutdown the logical/rational parts of my mind, or my curiosity and that need I have to learn as much as I can about everything.<br />
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But I've gone on too long about that. I'll post another day about my road to becoming an Atheist. This blog is about something that I came across today, that really upsets me.<br />
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The American Atheists have filed a suit for for equal representation of all faiths [or lack thereof] at the 9/11 Memorial Site, or none at all.<br />
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American Atheists' Communication Director, Blair Scott appeared on Fox News' American Live with Megyn Kelly on Thursday 28 July 2011. Or at least that is when they <a href="http://video.foxnews.com/v/1084798912001/legal-battle-over-ground-zero-cross">posted the interview.</a> An interview in which neither Megyn Kelly or Tim Brown ever acknowledge or respond to the fact that the law suit is not to remove the cross, but to either have all faiths represented or none. I cannot think of anything that would represent Atheists in the museum, but not allowing any other faiths to have representation within the museum is making a very bold, and incorrect statement about the United States of America. Not only do Megyn and Tim get very angry, and twist everything that Blair Scott said, but they introduce him after making very biased comments about the issue. They also conveniently had him on the phone, without video. But I will assume that wasn't intentional, and that the photo they used was Blair's choice, and not one they chose because the smile throughout such a serious topic made him seem pretentious (which he is not).<br />
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Shortly after this interview, Blair's voicemail and email was flooded with messages of hate and death threats. Even Fox News' Facebook page was flooded with them, and <a href="http://www.atheistrev.com/2011/07/fox-news-facebook-page-full-of-death.html">18 of those were saved before Fox News deleted them all.</a><br />
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Some were much worse than others, including two from a young lady saying, "stupid atheists, I hope God kills them all." and "I love Jesus, and the cross and if you don't, I hope someone rapes you!" [punctuation mistakes were her doing, not mine]<br />
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Now, I am fully aware that these views do not represent Theists as a whole, or even those of Polytheists. They do, however, represent the views of those that are pushing for choices in this country that have a direct influence on my life. They push for our government to give a portion of MY tax dollars to religious organizations (mostly Christian).<br />
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Now lets talk about what Churches do with money they receive: <br />
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In 2007 it was reported that 33.4% of the estimated total giving of people to different organizations, went to houses of worship and/or Denominational organizations (that comes out to $103.32 Billion given to religion, just in case you were wondering).<br />
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That is a lot of fucking money. What is happening to this money? Well, let me tell you!<br />
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On average, 85% of this money goes toward the internal operations of its congregation. Another 2% goes toward overseas missions, and that last 13% MAY go toward helping give back to the community. These are just 2007. Do you think it has changed any since then? You know, seeing as how the entire country is hurting for money.<br />
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Sources: <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/charity/2008-10-07-charity-faith_N.htm">USA Today</a>, <a href="http://www.generousgiving.org/stats">Generous Giving.org</a>, <a href="http://churchtithesandofferings.com/blog/giving-statistics/">Church Stewardship & Tithing Report</a>, and <a href="http://lmgtfy.com/?q=Where+do+religious+funds+go%3F">Google</a><br />
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Now let's take into account the survey taken by <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/story?id=1786422&page=1">The University of Minnesota</a> in 2006. This survey was published to the U of M website on <a href="http://www1.umn.edu/news/news-releases/2006/UR_RELEASE_MIG_2816.html">28 March 2006</a> (Hey! That's my birthday!) and found that Atheists are the least trusted minority in America. The <a href="http://www.soc.umn.edu/~hartmann/files/atheist%20as%20the%20other.pdf">full study</a> was published in the April 2006 issue of the <a href="http://asr.sagepub.com/">American Sociological Review</a>. <br />
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I hate when people that go out of their way to find ways to say they are being discriminated against, but I hate it even more when the discrimination is clear and the ones that are discriminating against others are twisting words and accusing the discriminated of wanting to be discriminated against. Would you ever accuse a rape victim of wanting to be raped so they'd have something to complain about? I sincerely hope that answer is 'no.'<br />
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With that, I hope anyone that might accidentally, or purposefully, happen across this will see that placing a religious symbol for one religion into the 9/11 museum, is unconstitutional if all religions are not also represented in some way. Atheism is not a religion, and does not need anything to represent it in the museum, but we do need it to be made clear that this is not a country with one religion or set of beliefs.<br />
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America is known as The Melting Pot, but that is not the image we display anymore. Now, instead of showing our acceptance and diversity, we allow certain people to represent us as something we are not. As a nation with one religion, that abhors immigrants from poorer countries, and only cares about fame and fortune. I know this isn't who we are. I know it isn't who we want to be, but I fear it is who we are becoming.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0Atlanta, GA, USA33.7489954 -84.387982433.629090399999995 -84.5191974 33.8689004 -84.2567674tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-82064995116562601712011-07-28T21:35:00.000-04:002011-07-29T16:18:51.164-04:00The Mountain Three Wolf Moon Shirt on Amazon<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Three-Wolf-Short-Sleeve/dp/B002HJ377A/ref=pd_sbs_a_23">The Mountain Three Wolf Moon Shirt</a><br />
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I'm sure anyone reading this has read some of the reviews for this shirt before. They're great!<br />
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Well, I happen to work with a man that owns this shirt (and many others like it) and wears it without irony. He has had it longer than these reviews have existed. One of the most interesting people I've ever met. So much so, that I thought I'd write a review for the shirt myself. Mostly so I could reference it in a couple of weeks when I write a review for <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Unicorn-Castle-Purple-T-shirt/dp/B0037TPED4/ref=pd_sbs_a_1">The Mountain Unicorn Castle Purple Shirt</a>. Link is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/review/R10SAZH56S5JMK/ref=cm_srch_res_rtr_alt_8">here</a>.<br />
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The title of the review is:<b><i> I used to be a woman...</i></b><br />
It is a<i><b> one star </b></i>review.<br />
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<div style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1520086515">Here is that review</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/review/R10SAZH56S5JMK/ref=cm_srch_res_rtr_alt_8">:</a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">I hate this shirt. I hate this company. They have ruined my life. I purchased this shirt for my son, because I was sick of watching Blues Clues and wanted him to skip age 2 and go right to age 34. After all, two years is more than enough time for him to grow up and become a man already. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of looking at the moon for too long, and before I knew it I was wearing the shirt myself.</span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">At first it was great. I felt stronger, more powerful, people ACTUALLY respected me! It was the greatest feeling I'd ever had. Fast forward two weeks, and I had noticed my arms were bigger, my breast had turned into beautiful pectoral muscles that danced when I flexed them, my hair naturally slicked itself back into a glorious ponytail (not unlike that of Steven Seagal circa Above The Law) that had my husband and son worshiping the ground I walked on. I had grown a delightfully thick beard, that was so amazing, Chuck Norris sent me a letter conceding to its glory. All great things, that I am very proud of. This shirt seemed like the greatest thing I could have ever found. My life was perfect.</span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">That is, they were perfect. Perfect up until the moment I discovered I had a penis. Actually, it was when my husband discovered the penis that things really went downhill.</span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">At first he was envious of its majesty, but he learned to love it. Sex...Amazing! But it was a few days after the penis appeared before I left the house and discovered the true power of the Three Wolf Shirt. </span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">In fact, it was when I made my first trip out in public with the penis that my life was ruined. I was at the Atlanta Motor Speedway with my husband and son, when we were rushed by a pack of beautiful women. My son and husband were trampled during the excitement, and were killed instantly. The spiked heels of these NASCAR models were just too much for my husband and son's fragile skulls.</span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">I now spend all of my time locked in an undisclosed location, trying to find a way to break this curse and bring back my family. Searching for something that can reverse this curse disguised as a blessing.</span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Whatever you do, do not buy this item. It has a way of giving you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, at the cost of everything you love.</span></i></b></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-80727436394663327702011-06-16T19:15:00.000-04:002013-11-12T20:58:25.545-05:00Mental Masturbation of the Soul (Facebook Edition!)<div>
The title is meant to imply that I am not really so self-centered and narcissistic as to think that writing a blog entry that strongly resembles a really long About Me section of a Facebook profile shows that I am actually a very deep individual, with ideas and thoughts that will change your ways of thinking. Or that I am the kind of person you think you are, but deep down know you really aren't.</div>
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It's a lie. I am that shallow and narcissistic, and I have no original ideas or anything interesting to say. What I am is bored at work and feeling like I need some kind of entry on this page. It's a shame I'm not feeling as inspired to write right now, as I am when I'm laying in bed trying to sleep.</div>
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Let's see where this goes!</div>
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My name is Jason. Apparently, I look like a Michael. That's my middle name, though I like to tell people it is Montgomery just to watch their face as they lie and tell me it is a beautiful or "unique" name. I grew up mostly in a small town on the edge of Georgia and Alabama. Hated the town, hated the schools, and pretty much hated everything until I was out on my own and living in Atlanta.</div>
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At sixteen years old I was kicked out of school for fighting my principal. He had sent me home several times before because of my hair. He didn't like the different colors. I tried going to other schools, but none would accept me. At 18 I decided to get my GED, took the test, received the diploma (if you can call it that), and proceeded to work crap jobs until I was 19. This is when I enlisted in the Army.</div>
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I did my time as a soldier. Never went to the desert, but I did go to Korea and several countries in South America. Got out, moved around for a while, and then worked some more crap warehouse jobs.</div>
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One Spring Break I took a week off from those crappy jobs and went to Puerto Rico to visit this hot chick I met on a message board (Bolt.com before it became whatever bullshit board it is now, and no, it is not a dating site). Had a blast and the next month she flew up to visit me. Then the following month I up and moved down there so I could actually date her like the normal person I am not.</div>
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A few months later she moved back to Georgia with me, and I went back to crap jobs.</div>
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When I finally got sick of those crappy jobs, I went into sales. I'd never worked in sales before, and thought it would be fun. It was... for about a week. I stayed in door-to-door sales for a few months, and then went into Car Sales. I didn't think anything would be worse than Going door to door, selling crap. I was wrong. Car Sales was the single worst job I have ever worked. It eats at your soul (and with a soul as short as mine, I couldn't afford to make a career out of it). Spent about two years there before leaving for a decent job with not many hours.</div>
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Then I landed my current job at a Helpdesk. Basic IT troubleshooting, and within a year and a half, I'd been promoted twice. Not bad for a fucking GED.</div>
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Somewhere near the end of all that, I married that Hot Latin Chick, and last September we had our first child. We spent a few years planning him, and seeing as how rare that is, I like to point it out. His name is Xekan, and he's fucking awesome.</div>
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Just look at this punam (WARNING! Better put on a helmet before scrolling down!):</div>
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Yeah, that PERSON used to live in MY BALLS! Took my awesome, mixed it with my wife's awesome, and we created awesome that has caused heads to explode.</div>
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Now is the part where I start listing all of the things about me that are unique and junk. Are you ready?! You'd better be, Sally Mae Doofinsmurtz!</div>
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I am a midget because I have a short soul. My actual height is something people are always asking me. I think Brutus was awesome, because he stuck it to the man. I hate country music, reggaeton, and southern white gospel. Everything else is at least tolerable. When I taste something, the first thing that I think of is the shape that it tastes like. I recently realized that certain sounds cause physical reactions in me that can change my mood almost instantly. I am an Atheist. My father is/was a preacher. I think the smell of powdered laundry detergent is the greatest and most delicious scent in the universe. I get excited by science, and inspired by the most simple things. I want to be like Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson when I grow up, and hope to have published books that touch people in the ways that my favorite authors have touched me. Authors like David Sedaris, Douglas Adams, Neil Gaiman, Douglas Coupland, Tiffanie DeBartolo, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Kurt Vonnegut, and Dan Wells. </div>
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I have a strange sense of humor, and I could not care less if I am the only person laughing or not. I will laugh at anything, and anyone. I will not treat someone like they're special just because they're retarded, sick, or dying. I lack empathy and/or a conscience. I'm a good person because I do good things, and I do good things because I enjoy doing good things. I look at all of the likely consequences of each choice I make, and I do not have to worry about God or Guilt preventing me from making the correct choice. The first thing I ask myself before most any choice I make is "Which one will have the best story?" </div>
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Darkwing Duck has the most passionate theme song of any cartoon I can think of. When everyone in elementary school was listening to Michael Jackson, I was listening to Prince and Stone Temple Pilots. The first thing I ever said I wanted to be when I grew up, was a Mad Scientist. Once I noticed people laughing at it, I changed it to professional baseball player, and left that as my default response until I was out of school. I never wanted to play any sport professionally.</div>
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I am a good listener. Scratch that. I think I am a good listener because I was a good listener until I was about 17 and someone actually listened to me. Then I realized, not only how good it feels to let things out, but how much more interesting I am than everyone else. I sometimes talk just so I can hear myself speaking. I have a great voice, and there are times when it sounds so perfect I don't want to stop listening to it. Like a song on repeat, that you just can't get enough of.</div>
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I expect people to be who they are, and nothing else. I am never disappointed. I have a pro active way of thinking, and a laid back way of acting. I'm extremely logical and rational, though my mind sometimes shorts out and appears broken. I choose to see the bright side of everything, and that makes this universe so much more beautiful than any other way I've ever looked at it.</div>
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I think I'll stop now, since this is getting stupid long, and no one will ever read it all.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-41074122242264572972011-03-26T14:24:00.000-04:002011-03-26T14:24:51.674-04:00"Children don't know what real stress is!"<i>This statement, and many other similar ones have been coming up around me a lot lately. From message board conversations, water cooler talk at work, to family and friends at home. I'm going to go on a long, and possibly incoherent, rant about why this is fucking bullshit. I'm running on little sleep, and typing this during my lunch at work. If it seems like I am not holding a thought long enough, bouncing around too much, or not staying consistent... I really don't care. </i><br />
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Maybe I'm weird in not thinking back on life and seeing sunshine and rainbows in my childhood. Perhaps something is broken in my brain that keeps me from glorifying what it was like to be a child and teenager. Was my childhood so bad that I fall outside the statistical average the adult population? I don't think so.<br />
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Whatever the reason, I'm thankful for it. As the brother of several teenagers and now the father of a baby that will one day be one; I'm glad I'm not another adult telling them they don't know what stress is, or that they have it made.<br />
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It seriously pisses me off when people say that.<br />
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How can people so easily forget the hormonal changes they were going through that made life so Goddamn stressful? Or the fact that they had no experience in dealing with the stresses of every day life, and fitting in socially was more difficult and necessary than when you are an adult. You have to do it to survive as a child. As an adult, you have the option of changing your environment to find more like-minded people. As a kid you are stuck with the people in the town that your parents chose, and you have to deal with it until College or at least when you're old enough to strike out on your own.<br />
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Let us not forget that as a minor, you do not have the same freedoms that an adult has. You cannot just up and leave the classroom you are in because the people around you are horrible (anyone that doesn't know how cruel children and teenagers can be, has obviously never met a teenager or child, and was probably raised in a lab deep in a German bunker). You cannot go out for a drive whenever you are stressed and need to get away (even when you're 16 and 17, you have a curfew in most states). Making money to buy the things you want to buy is damn near impossible. Especially when you have parents that refuse to allow you to get a job, or that say your grades (I'll rant about why I think the importance people put on grades is bullshit later) aren't high enough to work (even though working a steady job will prepare you for adult life more than straight A's ever will. I know I am not the only one here with a GED that is doing MUCH better than my straight A peers from High School.).<br />
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I would also like to point out to the people that say these things to children and teens, that any stress and responsibilities you have now, are the direct result of the choices that <i><b>YOU</b></i> made. The majority of a teen and child's stresses are out of their control. Many of them are <i style="color: red;"><b>ALSO THE DIRECT RESULT OF CHOICES THAT YOU/THEIR PARENTS MADE!</b></i> So don't go telling them they don't know what stress is, when they are having to cope with your bullshit life choices. They don't need you telling them they have no right to complain about the things they have to deal with because of you.<br />
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Adults are the ones with little right to complain about anything. Oh, you have a car note and mortgage to pay? Did someone force you to buy a house or car? No? Well then, why are you complaining about something you chose to commit to? What's that? You have a job you hate? Did you do everything you could to get a job you love? Relationships and children got in the way, did they? So you chose to have those things before you had reached the point in your life where you could work a job you love and afford a relationship and kids. Sounds like a problem with your priorities. By the way, getting pregnant is not an unforeseen circumstance. Getting arrested for a crime that you actually committed is not an unforeseen circumstance. Refusing to pick up a book and educate yourself on subjects that will help you get ahead in life, and talking to people that can help you make connections in the field of your choice, is laziness on your part and you have no right to complain that this was not handed to you. Odds are pretty high that you are in the situation you are in because you decided to take a quick job that you thought paid well at the time, because it was easier and faster than working your ass off for a few years to get the job you dreamed of as a child. Do not hate on a child for still dreaming. Encourage them to do what you didn't, and actually achieve their dreams.<br />
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The older we get, the faster time flies by. Time is relative, and the more times you do something, the less it feels like it takes. An example would be making an hour drive somewhere. The first few times may seem like an hour or longer, but after a while, it starts seeming shorter and shorter. Our days, weeks, months, and years are affected the same way by this repetition. Keep this in mind the next time you feel like you've had a long week, and then roll your eyes at that teen that said they know what you mean, because they had a long week to. Their long week felt twice as long as yours did. That means they are going to feel that stress twice as long, mixed with the hormonal changes that makes it difficult to rationalize what is happening to them (not that different from a pregnant woman). Twice the stress for twice the amount of time. They should be rolling their eyes at you.<br />
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I'd like to go back to something I said previously about experience. More than anything, this is what makes being an adult much easier than being a child. Experience. This does not mean that you automatically know more than anyone younger than you, because that is total bullshit. What it does mean, is that you have gone through the same stresses more often than they have gone through their stresses. It would be damn near impossible to have not experienced them more. With this experience, comes the ability to navigate and prioritize better (though some people never learn to do this). You are also given more and more respect by others with each passing year. By the time you are an adult in your 30s, you've probably had to deal with most of your stresses many times over. You know if you fall behind on bills, which ones to pay first, which ones to call and work out a later plan with, so on and so forth. You've probably had a few relationships, so you know how to cope with a break up, or how to transition from couple to friends with ease. You aren't learning to do this for the first time. You've likely had multiple jobs and know how to interview, ask for a promotion/raise, or even identify jobs that you will enjoy over ones that you'd hate but sound like they'd be fun when you read about them. With each passing year, these things get easier and easier. This is why so many "mental illnesses" are ones that people "grow out of." After a while, you learn how to cope with it to the point that you don't know it is still there. A child is still learning to do these things, and you patronizing them does not make it any easier. It just makes them feel like they are pathetic for feeling that way.<br />
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What I'm getting at is when you tell a minor they don't know what real stress is, remember that you don't know what the fuck you are talking about. You're so caught up in your own bullshit (that you brought upon yourself) that you have either forgotten what it was like to be a kid, or you are too self absorbed to believe that anyone could possibly feel like you do or worse. You're being an asshole, and you need to stop.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-11753066051685710312011-01-14T20:38:00.000-05:002011-01-14T23:00:33.520-05:00The Definition of Pretentious...I've been trying to find the time to type this up since it happened over the weekend. Seeing as how it has taken me all week to get to it, you aren't likely to find the same passion I was feeling right after it happened.<br />
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My brother was over last weekend, as is often the case on weekends. It was Saturday night, and it was dark out. We were getting ready to take my dog Kale for a walk around the neighborhood, and Brent decided to go outside to wait on us. As soon as he stepped outside, there was an old man walking his dog that quickly snapped at him to come over so he could ask him a question. His tone and body language put my brother on the defensive, but since he was an old man, he walked over to see what he wanted.<br />
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The old man didn't want to ask a question. It turns out he wanted to make a statement. You see, Kale stays in our garage when it is cold outside, and we walk him a few times a day and play with him inside the garage where it is warm and cozy. In the summertime he has our backyard to roam around and play in, and when the weather is bad he has his kennel in the garage. We rent, and dogs are not allowed inside. Plus he's a big, dumb, smelly, mutt. Pretty much the most perfect furry friend imaginable.<br />
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Well, as you may have already figured out, the old man didn't like this. Or, I should say, he didn't like that Kale stays in the garage. He didn't know any of the other things, or the fact that I work nights, so most of Kale's play time is after dark and before I go to work. Basically whenever this guy isn't walking by my house.<br />
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He proceeded to tell Brent how cruel it is to have him locked up in the garage when there are people at home, because every single time he walks his dog by our house he hears him barking. He kept using the word "cruel" like a weapon of self righteousness.<br />
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Brent argued that the man was making assumptions based on facts he didn't have, and asked how the man knew the inside of garage wasn't a palace. He asked him what he did with his dog when he wasn't at home. His response was that he let's his dog roam freely throughout their home, and that's what any real animal lover would and should do. Then he said he was simply showing concern as an animal lover. Brent told him to wait right there, while he went to get me so he could say all of this to my face.<br />
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I was still helping my wife put our son to sleep, and putting on some warmer clothes. I told Brent I'd be right down, and he went back outside to find the old man walking away. He stopped him, and made him come back to repeat everything to me.<br />
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I stepped outside and asked him what the problem was (Brent had not said anything more than he wanted to ask me about Kale). He stood there, with his big pure breed poodle, and let me know how cruel it is that I keep my dog in the garage when people are at home. He did not ask me anything, he just told me. I explained the situation and why he is in there, and he had the fucking gall to tell me that I would understand where he was coming from if I had ever watched any of the animal shows on television.<br />
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I interrupted him and asked if he had ever done anything to help animals, or if he'd just watched those shows. I then asked if he knew who Brandon Bond was, and explained to him exactly what he has done to help dogs and other animals everywhere; I told him how my wife and I both do what we can to help animals and how we have fostered animals until we were able to find them homes, just to keep them out of shelters. I pointed out the dogs that were inside other people's houses that were barking at his dog. You know, because some dogs bark when they hear/see/smell other animals, regardless of where they are.<br />
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I then told him he needed to leave, and that I was done talking to him. He said he was just trying to show concern, and I let him know that he wasn't. He was actually being pretentious and just wanted to feel self righteous by telling us how he lived his life.<br />
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I was told I needed to look up the word 'pretentious'.<br />
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I didn't, but Brent did. He's never been one to turn down a challenge.<br />
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<i>Pretentious: <span class="ssens"> </span></i><br />
<i><span class="ssens"><i class="sn"></i></span><span class="ssens">a: making usually unjustified or excessive claims (as of value or standing).</span></i><br />
<i>b: expressive of affected, unwarranted, or exaggerated importance, worth, or stature.</i><span class="ssens"> </span><br />
<span class="ssens"> </span><span class="ssens"> </span><br />
I would not have been so upset if this did not happen the night after I heard about the death of <a href="http://www.allornothingtattoo.com/index.php?sub=StoryofCain">Cain</a>, <a href="http://www.allornothingtattoo.com/index.php?sub=StoryofCain">Brandon Bond's pitbull and best friend</a>. My wife and I read his story, and spent the night crying and hugging Kale and our cat Chiquita. For someone I have never met to walk up to me and tell me that I am cruel to animals, while they are wasting money paying breeders for pure breeds rather than saving an innocent animal from dying in a shelter... It gets to me. I hope that man, that old fuck, chokes on his dinner and dies slowly as his poodle pisses on his carpet in front of him.<br />
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This is the happy puppy, that apparently shouldn't be happy since we're so cruel to him:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqxM0EvG0YaAmPn5KwKBIWxjcEhXhV9H1rj8pMEk_YznVpRTiSBV_SCPWe1R9zS4TWJUo6VPuK_bZpMVqs3h7qR7jKMd97CY3q3YR8Ph3c1sCQb7V99QpM8HccgDRpyeCWh6LzXxNK__l/s1600/kale2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqxM0EvG0YaAmPn5KwKBIWxjcEhXhV9H1rj8pMEk_YznVpRTiSBV_SCPWe1R9zS4TWJUo6VPuK_bZpMVqs3h7qR7jKMd97CY3q3YR8Ph3c1sCQb7V99QpM8HccgDRpyeCWh6LzXxNK__l/s320/kale2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIAe-w6ZhAAJZxxiR7DYd-Z1WXiMYXK1RvRdXcFygRFv1y7OI2DE5RXIdwF3n4oTRTA0G8D-Bxw9KnjWVY6wRInqqRt1iBteAst8eMP7HBHELz-C6cgWahhs2rCP_GgO3XWvM4dqUzmNd/s1600/kale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIAe-w6ZhAAJZxxiR7DYd-Z1WXiMYXK1RvRdXcFygRFv1y7OI2DE5RXIdwF3n4oTRTA0G8D-Bxw9KnjWVY6wRInqqRt1iBteAst8eMP7HBHELz-C6cgWahhs2rCP_GgO3XWvM4dqUzmNd/s320/kale.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-56355344403611308932010-12-25T18:58:00.000-05:002010-12-25T18:58:35.647-05:00Christmas Time for an Atheist.It is Christmas Day, and I am at work. By choice, I volunteered. So, I'm going to write about Christmas and me (my favorite thing to write about!).<br />
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Now, everyone knows that I'm an Atheist, and they are probably sick of me constantly talking about it. I don't care. I really don't. But I would like to clear a few things up about Christmas time.<br />
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My being an Atheist has nothing to do with why I do not like celebrating Christmas, nor does my not celebrating mean I hate Christmas. In fact, I love Christmas time. Everyone is a little be happier and children smile a little more. The songs are so cheery and catchy. The weather is perfect. It's awesome! I love it! The family time, the food, the music, the weather, the smells, etc. It is a great time of year. I just don't like feeling like I have to celebrate today, when I celebrate every single day of my life. Being forced to make today extra special, to me, is like saying the rest of the year doesn't mean anything at all. As if all of the time I have cherished with my loved ones means nothing compared to Christmas Day.<br />
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Bullshit.<br />
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So I don't believe in Santa, in buying or receiving gifts (not that I don't enjoy these things, I'd just rather it happen on random days when it isn't expected), or making today more important than any other day of the year. I definitely don't believe Jesus was ever even a real person, let alone a magic baby that was born on this day 2000 years ago.<br />
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^^^<br />
See that last paragraph? Pretty small, eh? Well I don't believe any of those three things have much to do with Christmas time at all. Even the super religious aren't thinking about God or Santa when they are gathered around the television after a big meal, laughing and sharing stories, while posing awkwardly for family photos. They are just thinking about how happy they are to be with the ones they love, having a good time. Listening to cheesy Christmas songs and smiling with people you love, or even at the stranger you're passing down the street. THAT is what Christmas time is really about. All of that other bullshit is exactly that. BULLSHIT.<br />
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So, please, remember this if you are not an Atheist: Christmas is not just for the religious, or young at heart. It is for everyone that loves life and spending time with awesome people.<br />
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I do wish that I could be at home with my wife and son right now, but I wish that every single day of the year that I am not with them. Today is no different.<br />
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Merry Christmas everyone!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-17935242861175909492010-12-24T18:13:00.000-05:002013-08-06T20:59:19.685-04:00An Essay For The United States Army<i>When I was a soldier, I was reprimanded for showing up to formation in BDUs ready to go to a medical appointment. I received the call as I was getting dressed for PT from the doctor's office asking if I could come in that morning instead of later in the day, otherwise they'd have to reschedule for the following week. I let them know I would, and then called my Platoon Sgt. He didn't answer his phone, so I called again and again and again, and finally left a voicemail and ran to formation. </i><br />
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<i>He said that because I didn't call him (which later turned into didn't speak to him when he realized I had called and his phone was on silent), I had to be punished and tried to make me give an embarrassing class/speech to the rest of our Company. This is pretty common practice, but most soldiers don't know that they do not have to do it. I wasn't most soldiers.</i><br />
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<i>He then assigned me to write a 5k word essay about the importance of informing your chain of command. This too, is something I didn't have to do, but knew I could have fun with.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>I wrote his essay, clocking in at 3,193 words. Took me about 45 minutes, and he never counted, or even read it. But I passed out copies to everyone else in the company and hung a few copies in his office.</i><br />
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<i>This is that essay:</i><br />
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<i><b>Before you begin this essay, it should be known that all grammatical errors are intentional and meant to frustrate and confuse its intended recipient. The rest of the content was intended to anger said recipient. Unfortunately, he refused to read it, so I have decided to share it with everyone else. Please enjoy responsibly.</b></i><br />
<i><b> </b> </i><br />
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When I think of the importance of informing my chain of command about appointments I am reminded of a story that my father told me, while I was growing up. It’s the story of a guy that didn’t inform anyone of the things that he had planned on a day to day basis. This is that story.<br />
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Kahula Jack was a rambunctious little fellow that loved to live life to the fullest. However he had a bad habit of doing everything sporadically and without warning. He would go off in the middle of the day to the zoo where he would climb the cage full of monkeys and tease them with bananas and ice cream cones. He would then head over to the polar bears and steal their food and replace it with the little rubber vomit gag toys that he would buy at his favorite gag shop “Big Bills Little Shop Of Nonsense” every Tuesday after he finished working at the miniature golf course as a golf ball, which was much better than the job he had before that as a spoon in New England. The polar bears didn’t like the rubber food replacements that he gave them and would become angered with him and the zoo keepers. They went on strike for a while, but caved in when they discovered the secret of life lay within the little pieces of fake carrots inside the rubber vomit. They spent the rest of their days trying to unlock that secret. Sadly, they all died of animeinhalation, which is very common in bears of their stature. They caught it from the moths inside the robes of the mother-in-laws of the zoo keeper’s best friend’s second cousins, which makes it difficult to catch but common none-the-less. When Kahula Jack wasn’t fooling around with the monkeys and polar bears in the zoo or working as a golf ball at the miniature golf course he would be jumping out of windows and eating as much candy as he possibly could. He like to stay in shape so they candy really didn’t effect him all that much. Occasionally he would become distraught with life and go into a daze of confusion and mayhem that would ultimately lead to his falling in love with the woman that designed the bottle labels for Pepsi that we all love to rip off and get mad at for not coming completely off in one tear because there is always that one little piece that has to rip and stay on and leave the part that came off partially translucent and tainted with imperfection! But she did not make the labels or put them on the bottle; she only designed them and made quite a bit of money doing so. Since she didn’t put the labels on herself Kahula Jack was able to love her. However he did try awfully hard to find out who the person that put the labels on was so that he could seriously injure them from her but she wouldn’t talk. But I’m drifting away from the story. They anarchic dazes that he went into caused him to lose his socks from time to time that would, in turn, cause him to lose his temper with himself and his dryer. He had to find a way to keep in eye on his dryer and socks to see if the dryer was eating and/or stealing his socks or if, just maybe, his socks and dryer were conspiring together against him. He tried getting in the dryer with them, but the dryer would get angry and beat him up until he became unconscious. He finally cut a whole in the door so that he could see, but that also angered the dryer and it stopped drying his socks. Finally, one day, he came across Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> (she’s the label designer that I spoke of earlier in the story if you remember correctly. If you don’t remember then you should start back at the top and read the entire thing over, maybe even take notes if you think it will help you remember, because if you’re not paying any attention to this story then maybe I’m just wasting my time. Anyway, she’s pretty and she likes legos.). Ms <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> was the woman of his dreams and held the answer to his dryer troubles! She simply had him fix the whole he had put in the door and apologize to the dryer for scarring it like he did. Then she had him tie strings to all of his socks before putting them in the dryer. He would the tie on the opposite end of the string a board that he hung out of the dryer with the socks and other end of the string inside. Now if the dryer tried to eat his socks he would know! However his chronic athletes foot still didn’t go away (I forgot to mention his athletes foot, but he has it and boy does he have it bad.), which led him to believe that the dryer and his socks WERE in cahoots with one another! After discovering this he confided in Ms. <span class="highlight">Wild</span> hoping that she would have another solution to his problems. She did not. However, she did have a new hat for him to wear that made him smile more than he had ever smiled in his whole entire life! The hat had a little fish on it that was holding a bowl that was under a table that was on a cloud in the middle of Egypt. Underneath this wonderful picture was written “Egyptian Cereal may taste like fish but it will put you on cloud 9 if you eat it in the right place!” He loved that hat and totally forgot about the evil dryer that had turned all of his socks against him. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> believed that the dryer was under the control of Charles Manson, but had no real proof. Kahula stuck by his theory about the VP of S.C. Johnson & Son making a deal with a leprechaun so that he could have supreme pizza’s whenever he wanted without having to pay a delivery fee or having to tip the pizza guy. He always hated having to tip those guys, which is a shame because lots of people make their living that way and you don’t see anyone telling him that they only want to pay half price for his products. Sadly enough, Kahula could never prove his theory. So, the case of the evil dryer and sock henchmen remained unsolved. Aside from having good taste in hats, Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> was an excellent florist. She could put together an ensemble of flowers that would make your mother want to buy dance a merry little jig in front of the mall dressed like a keebler elf. Her arrangements were amazing and it was partially due to her experience as a hostess and the Little Debbie factory. One day after her and Kahula Jack had been seeing each other for more than a year; she decided to pop the big question to him. He gladly said yes and asked her what had taken her so long to ask. She said she was embarrassed and he laughed and replied with, “No need to be embarrassed, I love the wiggles too!! I was going to buy the tickets to their show myself but they were all sold out. How’d you get them?” She was so excited to know that they both loved the Wiggles that she did the happy dance of enthusiasm in the backyard of her grandmas neighbor Herbert Von Walrusteen. It was an amazing dance of love that led Herbert to his patio full of onions that weren’t quite ready to be eaten but were cooked up anyway for his wife Maude Von Walrusteen-Boogalike. When Kahula Jack saw Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> dancing in the back yard of Mr. Herbert Von Walrusteen and Mrs. Maude Von Walrusteen-Boogalike he smiled and ate some candy (because he loves candy, as I told you earlier). That was when he realized that he was truly in love with this woman that most called Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span>, but that he had begun to call Grandma Coffee Cup Green. No one else is allowed to call her that so for safety purposes I will continue to call her Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span>. After Kahula Jack finished eating his candy and watching his lady friend Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> dance in the backyard of her grandma’s neighbors Mr. Herbert Von Walrusteen and Mrs. Maude Von Walrusteen-Boogalike he went to the store to buy some cup cakes for dinner that night. The store that he usually went to was closed so he had to go to the dreaded “Lost and Found Food Mart” that no one really liked, but were sometimes forced to go to. He desperately needed those cup cakes so he went on in and started searching for them. He came across many cup cake shaped food items, but none of them were quite what he was looking for. A few looked like they had been made with shoe laces and random wires, bolts, and other parts from a broken radio. He didn’t trust those cup cakes at all. He also didn’t trust the cup cakes that smelled of old laundry and dirty diapers. He suffered through the foul smell of the store until he came across some cup cakes that did not smell like they had been in someone’s gym locker and they did not look like they had come from and auto parts store. He picked these cup cakes up and tried one. They were superb! He immediately bought them and rushed home to Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> so that she could taste the awesome goodness that was in these delicious baked goods that he had found in the most unlikely of places! When Kahula Jack arrived home with the cupcakes, that tasted of heaven and smelled of perfection, he put them in the fridge so that they wouldn’t go bad before Ms <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> got home. Kahula Jack forgot about the cupcakes of heavenly delight while he was eating dinner with Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> that night. The next evening when he arrived home from work he found the cup cakes ( acting not so heavenly ) in bathrooms, bedrooms, and every other room in the house. They had completely destroyed the place! They were acting like a dog that was left home alone and started getting lonely and wanted attention so they tore everything up that they could find and/or get their hands on. However, the focus of this story is not the tantrums thrown by these spoiled little baked goods, but the irresponsibility of Kahula Jack ( and, of course, his love of candy and Ms <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> ). Now that you have an idea of the background of our character, Kahula <span class="highlight">Jack,</span> I’ll start with the real story. This is the story of why Kahula Jack was fired from his job as a spoon.</div>
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Kahula Jack (the guy I’ve been telling you about for a while now. Maybe you should go back and take notes like I suggested earlier, you seem to be pretty forgetful. You got to pay attention, because this story is important and could save your life one day.) was a man of many faces and had many skills. One of his skills was the ability to be the best at what he did. What he did was not an easy job by any means. Oh no. He was a spoon at a prestigious five star restaurant in Upstate New England. Now being a spoon is no where near as easy as you might think. There is a lot of bending and conforming to do. Some people may find it to be degrading, but many a fine person make a good living doing this. Kahula Jack was the best spoon that that restaurant had ever seen. Did I mention the name of the restaurant, yet? I didn’t? Well then, I guess it’d help if I told you, huh? The name of this fancy five star restaurant was The Star Of Earendil Mist. It was such a lovely place, but I shouldn’t be talking so much about the restaurant. YOU want to here more about Kahula Jack. Aside from being the greatest spoon that The Star Of Earendil Mist had ever had the pleasure of employing, he was the also the most apathetic person anyone had ever come across (that is, before he met Ms. <span class="highlight">Cherry</span> <span class="highlight">Wild</span> ). He would come into work and be THE best at what he did, but then he would turn around and leave whenever he wanted to. He wasn’t trying to be rude by any means and lord knows he didn’t think he was too good to have to tell anyone where he was going. Bottom line is he just didn’t think before he acted. He would make assumptions in his head that everyone already knew and that he shouldn’t bother them all the time constantly reminding them of the other things that he had to do. But, this isn’t how the staff of The Star Of Earendil Mist saw things. They thought he was lazy, rude, and cocky, for not telling them when, where, and/or what he was doing. It made him look bad. So one day, after he had finished up his duties of being a spoon and had washed up to go home, one of his supervisors came to him. He wanted to know where he had been the day before. No one had seen him all day and no one had ever received a phone call from him. He told him that he was at the zoo ( and we all know what he does at the zoo! That crazy crazy man ) like he was every Wednesday. The supervisor became furious with Kahula <span class="highlight">Jack,</span> accusing him of trying to “pull one over on him”. He began to yell and scream at Kahula Jack. But our hero ( because he is a hero my eyes and he should be in yours too ) wasn’t phased. He showed no emotion to what was being said. He heard it all but, being the apathetic guy that he was; he showed nothing to let his supervisor know he was paying attention. Once they yelling had ceased he asked if there was something wrong. THAT was not the thing to do. His supervisor became enraged with him. He told Kahula Jack to leave right then and there. So, Kahula Jack did as he was told and went to work on his dryer some more ( remember the evil dryer? It eventually took over most of Eastern Europe and is now on its way to take over Russia and Iceland ) before his favorite show in the world came on. It was a show on Fox about these two kids that were obsessed with internet drama and what people thought and said about them on certain message boards ( which will remain unnamed for now, you’ll have to watch the show to learn what and where it is ). Their obsession became so strong that they started investigating posts and screen names. They would trace ip addresses and whine about private messages and red Chiclets ( you’ll also have to watch the show to find out more about these reputation giving devices. The chicklet is what gives us life and defines who we are. They are controlled by the Chiclets Mafia and we…I mean they, have total power over everyone ) with little messages that would tell them how much they were hated. These messages to them were just to cause drama, and drama they sure caused. Without the drama of these Chiclets and these two characters ( who I will call Section Kate and Eumikeit for now, or at least until you watch the show and discover their real names ). The show is better than CSI and that, my friend, is why Kahula Jack watches it. Fox sure does have some great shows! Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was talking about Kahula Jack being sent home from work ( which was odd because he was told to go home as he was leaving to go home anyway ). He made it home, worked on his dryer ( this was the time he cut the huge hole in the door to see inside and angered the dryer like I had told you before. Where are your notes? You should have known this.) and then turned on the tele to watch his favorite show ( that I told you about already ) The ICFEP Krew!!! This truly is the greatest show on Earth. Once the show was over her went for a walk down by the volcano that was located about 3 miles from his house and had just recently become active again. He took a basket of fruit with him to sacrifice to the volcano God Susan. Susan was a vegetarian so he had to sacrifice fruit and vegetables. Susan the Volcano God got picked on by the other Gods a lot but she had grown used to it and really didn’t care anymore. Things like that always happen when you’re different from everyone else. But back to Kahula <span class="highlight">Jack,</span> he went down to the volcano and made the fruit sacrifices to Susan and cried from the sounds of the little fruit voices screaming for mercy. Then he did some jumping jacks for about 20 min. He loved doing jumping jacks because, in his head, they were named after him. Once he had finished he went back home and discovered and message on his answering machine telling him that he had been fired from The Star Of Earendil Mist ( located in up state New England ) and that he would never work in that town again. He went one town over and started working as a golf ball the very next day. </div>
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If you’re wondering how this story ties into the subject that I mentioned in the very beginning paragraph of this essay, it’s quite simple. If you do not tell your chain of command about your appointments immediately after they are made, then like this story that lead from one random thought into another into another until you forget where you started, things may happen that will keep you busy and/or preoccupied so that you do not remember to tell them until it is too late. This may cause problems that can get you and/or your supervisors into trouble. It can cause unneeded stress to be added to the other members of your team and it may possibly get you or someone else fired/chaptered out or at least and Article 15. Moral of the story is, always tell those over you what is going on before you get side tracked by something else. Don’t be like Kahula Jack going from one job to another not caring about anything but a girl that designs Pepsi labels.</div>
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Jason M. Caldwell</div>
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SPC USA, </div>
<div>
SSS Supervisor</div>
<br />
<i><b>*Disclaimer* Despite what the introduction and essay may imply, I was not THAT soldier. I didn't cause trouble, complain, or go against authority. I did what I was told, when I was told, without asking questions. I did not, however, allow anyone to walk over or take advantage of me in any way. This particular NCO was known for doing this to everyone, and tried doing this to me right up until the last minute of my last day as an official soldier. Today is that anniversary. Six years since I became a civilian again.</b></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-25552844429650580522010-12-24T17:34:00.000-05:002010-12-24T17:37:34.408-05:00Not a funny story, just pictures of my sleeve in progressI've been working on this sleeve for about a year now. Haven't had the time to have any work done since April, but hopefully will have it completed by my birthday.<br />
<br />
Artist is Dave MF Tedder at All or Nothing Tattoo Studio in Atlanta (Smyrna), GA. http://www.AllorNothingTattoo.com/<br />
<br />
These are right after the third session:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Xdni02BFKpcZ9GB4YV_9CwiS-3VWSvM34lTpqEittDhLQoimuBJ3RqO9AjRbLi2LAW7nFK3syJ8rWpR3qgQF6tjIUDCUD-WUuwdrL4w2TaN6aAnsflg76PaxrMKhEU0C6OIUqMLqh4ik/s1600/3v5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Xdni02BFKpcZ9GB4YV_9CwiS-3VWSvM34lTpqEittDhLQoimuBJ3RqO9AjRbLi2LAW7nFK3syJ8rWpR3qgQF6tjIUDCUD-WUuwdrL4w2TaN6aAnsflg76PaxrMKhEU0C6OIUqMLqh4ik/s320/3v5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKuL_NJzfJUEL7cbGv45bg9Pn7RMIsa7OGL8KYXCVvT8ySrY4tqTKWJsIFfawTLCssAP9f0ihFmvmnw4buHFnmScV9pNpG1e62eEo20ryOXZ_xzQTBhaGN0D1Lc-y92bzc2tLFOulhtv9/s1600/3v4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKuL_NJzfJUEL7cbGv45bg9Pn7RMIsa7OGL8KYXCVvT8ySrY4tqTKWJsIFfawTLCssAP9f0ihFmvmnw4buHFnmScV9pNpG1e62eEo20ryOXZ_xzQTBhaGN0D1Lc-y92bzc2tLFOulhtv9/s320/3v4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXJvoUMlXCoYbx38tT47KSvTnAff9-MyPLxQ4yD-aHQC0XbAJBff5h0Bplu7PAzJ-L-b2oQk2o5Jo1y6qPctZ4DuIwr2835DqmF6SznZubm4Hf4N-ZLTHGo09wGJLDFFZiAJ-75PtfOIV/s1600/26405_1405223899350_1494971689_3104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is right after the fourth session:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDmQD60hv5feDgiSIVZflQEDFqzDAPsJ2ypJtuTI4IyxkYKZddb5YmXx6raWVtt0dzIfLkirZnhu7Nnnl5VvUh7DExk-LfiUFVNMxrvHp18EmrsU6_XTT4A6gpSb0lji5CFFhWJnhy8Jy/s1600/26405_1405223899350_1494971689_3104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDmQD60hv5feDgiSIVZflQEDFqzDAPsJ2ypJtuTI4IyxkYKZddb5YmXx6raWVtt0dzIfLkirZnhu7Nnnl5VvUh7DExk-LfiUFVNMxrvHp18EmrsU6_XTT4A6gpSb0lji5CFFhWJnhy8Jy/s320/26405_1405223899350_1494971689_3104.jpg" width="141" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-4680595760901857232010-12-23T22:36:00.000-05:002010-12-23T22:38:11.977-05:00Midget Paintball<i>This was about two years ago, while I was home sick. </i><br />
<br />
We have no mower, or weed eater, or even a sling blade. We need our lawn mowed pretty badly. My brother said he would, but we never got anything for him to mow it with. Then the Jason across the street told Shy he'd get the side of the house for an extra $5. She paid and he did nothing. This pissed me off. I don't care if the guy is a little retarded, you don't tell me you are going to do something and then not do it.<br />
<br />
So now we have people randomly stop by to ask if they can mow it. Which happened before, but Shy swears it is because it needs it now (we've had people stop by the day after it was cut).<br />
<br />
So this drunk crackhead just stopped by (not Skeet. I think Skeet is in jail or something).<br />
<br />
This was our conversation:<br />
<i><br />
The CrackHead's voice should be read as the stereotypical voice you'd expect from a black, 40 to 50 something, toothless crackhead drinking tall can of Old English 1800. Mine should be read as an over excited stoner. </i><br />
<br />
<b>CH: Hey man! Just stopping by to see if you still wanted yo yard cut!</b><br />
<i>Me: Still?</i><br />
<b>CH: Yeah, man. You still want it cut?</b><br />
<i>Me: Where'd the still come from? I never wanted it cut. How am I supposed to hide the midgets with short grass?!</i><br />
<b>CH: Midgets? What the--</b><br />
<i>Me: Yeah man! The midgets! I am going to have a midget paintball field! I'm going to make so much scratch!</i><br />
<b>CH: Hell yeah you will! Hey you think I can--</b><br />
<i>Me: Hell no! I said midgets! You have to be this tall (this is where I pointed at my penis) to play in the field. Otherwise you'd get your goddamn head blown off.</i><br />
<b>CH: I'd what? What do--</b><br />
<i>Me: You don't know many midgets, do you? Man! They are fucking ruthless! If you can't hide behind something, they'll kill you! They're like tiny little demons on meth, man! They will fuck you up!</i><br />
<b>CH: I heard that, man! My sister dated a midget--</b><br />
<i>Me: Oh dear! Bless her heart, man. Bless her little heart. I hope he didn't hurt her too bad. I know how terrible it can be.</i><br />
<b>CH: No, he just--</b><br />
<i>Me: I hope I didn't make you late, man. You have fun with those kids, dude.</i><br />
<b>CH: The what--</b><br />
<i>Me: Yeah, man. I wish I could go, but you know how it is. Can't stop the rockin' with the bam da bam diggy and a up jump those boogy and beats, you know what I'm saying? Yeah, you know.</i><br />
<b>CH: (Look of confusion) Yeah...</b><br />
<i>Me: You take care now. Keep it real.</i><br />
<br />
It made up for not feeling well enough to talk with the Church ladies that stopped by the day before.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-61833824069426425202010-12-23T22:24:00.000-05:002013-08-06T20:58:40.232-04:00Guilt: My Favorite Flavor<div>
<i>I used to work part-time at a storage company around <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Atlanta</st1:place></st1:city>. I was working there one day, which just so happened to be my birthday, and we were unusually busy right at closing time. I had a lady that was very upset that other people were in front of her, and when it was finally her turn, she let me know that she was also upset that we were out of the boxes she wanted. Or I should say we didn't have the quantity that she wanted.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<i><br /> This was how our moment played out:<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Lady: Why don't you have anymore of these boxes?</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: I don't know. We are opening several new loactions, so perhaps they were taken there until we can order some new ones. I'll take from these and add to yours so that it works itself out to the same thing.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: Just void the payment and I'll go somewhere else! I've been standing here for an hour for what? FOR NOTHING!</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: Those people were here first. I couldn't tell them to hold on while I helped you, that would have been rude.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: Well you're being rude right now by not having what I paid for!</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: I have no control over that. You're not being very nice to me. It isn't my fault, and I'm trying to fix the problem for you.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: I'M being mean?! Who the fuck do you--</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: It's my birthday.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: What does that have to do with anything?!</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: It's my birthday, it's Saturday, I'm working, and you're yelling at me for something I had know way of controlling. It's kind of depressing.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: Prove it's your birthday.</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: See? (I showed her my license)</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: This isn't real. It says it expires in 2048!</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place></st1:country-region> doesn't require anyone that has been in the military to renew their license until they turn 65. Don't have to pay for it either.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: So it's your birthday and you served in the Armed Forces.</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: Yes ma'am.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<b>Lady: I'm sorry. I feel like such a bitch.</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Me: It's okay. Happens to all of us from time to time.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>She bought the boxes and didn't complain anymore.</i><o:p></o:p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4570576529511763854.post-19101506834403390122010-12-23T22:10:00.000-05:002013-08-06T20:58:18.660-04:00True Stories From My Past Part III: The Midget Strikes Back<i>This is almost two years old.</i> <br />
<br />
Friday night (really Saturday morning, around 3:15) after work, I walked to the car. I always walk to the car, but this time I was walking to a different parking garage (it's cheaper) and it doesn't have a tunnel going from the second floor of International Tower to the car. That's okay with me, because it increases my chance of fucking with a crackhead.<br />
<br />
So I am wearing some worn out jeans and one of my gray army hoodies that has some paint stains on it. I've also got on a backpack. As I am walking down the street toward the parking garage, I get stopped by a crackhead that ran across the street to get to me. You know, lonely white boy in downtown Atlanta must be looking for junk, coke, and/or weed.<br />
<br />
So this guy...Let's call him Myrle. So Myrle comes running up to me and asks where I'm from. I tell him <i>"here"</i> and go about my business. He asks me,<b> "Here, where, man?"</b> So I say, <i>"Here as in down the street. I sleep under the overpass most nights, but sometimes I find other places to crash."</i><br />
<br />
Myrle looks confused now. Myrle wants to know why he hasn't seen me before. I tell him I've been away for a while and he asks how I got into the towers (they lock everyone out after 8pm) and I tell him I know someone that works there and lets me crash with them every now and then if I help him out some.<br />
<br />
Myrle gets a little excited and starts asking questions (we're getting closer to the garage too) like, <b>"What's his name? What kind of shit he have you do? You just clean and cut grass and shit?"</b> and I tell him, <i>"Nah, nothing like that. I just share some of my knowledge with him and he gives me a place to sleep, bathe, and wash my clothes. He even gave me these." </i><br />
<br />
<b>So Myrle is all, "Knowledge? What you mean you just talk to that mutha fucka and he give you shit?! What's his name?!" </b><br />
<br />
<i>I smile and look at Myrle like the crazy bastard he is and say, "Jesse, but no. You don't know what knowledge is?" </i><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>"Yeah I know what knowledge is, but how he get somethin' from it?! That shits free!"</b><br />
<br />
<i>"Come on, you know, 'knowledge' man. Head. I suck his dick a little and he lets me crash with him."</i><br />
<br />
<b>(Blank look of shock)</b><br />
<br />
<i>"What? You never suck a dick for something you want?"</i><br />
<br />
<b>"So he gives you food and clothes and shit for head?"</b><br />
<br />
<i>"That's what he does."</i><br />
<br />
<b>"What's he look like? You think he'd want anything? I got the best weed and coke in Atlanta! Best black tar too!"</b><br />
<br />
<i>"Oh, he's about my height, short hair, kind of brownish blonde, big nose, always wearing a hoodie. Don't fuck with him, though. He's clean."</i><br />
<br />
Then I walked into the parking garage, got into my car, and pulled out. I waved to Myrle as I drove by smiling.<br />
<br />
I'm a little upset that I didn't tell him Jesse is a ninja.<br />
<br />
<i><br />
For those of you that missed it, I described myself to Myrle, and Jesse Collins is the fake name that I first started using in Korea.</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11959828281911390794noreply@blogger.com0