I hope you know...

I hope you know, you fucked it up.

When you pick up that phone to text me a quip about your day, I hope you hesitate a little with regret before putting it back in your pocket. When you smile at an inside joke that is brought to light by something you see on the street, I hope you cringe a little inside at the thought of what you ruined.

When you hope there's someone there for you, when you ache not to feel alone and unloved--when you want someone to reach out to, but they're already gone, I hope you remember: you caused this pain.

I'm not trying to harp on you (or maybe I am), for I know that words hold no meaning anymore to situations like these. Words are empty, words are hollow, and--for all the power they hold--they can't fix it. And, my dear, they can't fix you.

I'll move on, I suppose. Mourn a little less every day, try to push those thoughts of you from my mind--try not to wonder what you're doing or think about what we had--brief as it was, real or not. Someday, I'll grow old and tired of this mindset, move on to the next good thing in my life, and appreciate what you did do for me--what we did for each other.

Until then, though: I hope you walk around the streets at night on your own, flipping your phone in your hand and debating calling me and apologizing for hours before your bitter pride gets the best of you. I hope there are moments--those terrible, bittersweet, truthful moments--where you're alone in your house, or car, or at work--when you break down inside and pray to God you lose the ability to grasp what you lost. Where you hang your head in your hands, pushing away the migraines and the troubled dreams and the occasional tears that prickle at the corner of your eyes, and you know--know then, more than ever--that you fucked this up.

Hi

I still wait for that text message. The one saying you're sorry..you hit just the right place, cracking open all my emotions and engorging the hemmorage with a crowbar

And then you left.

I still check your facebook, looking for signs that you miss me. I sure miss you.

I didn't think I could grow so attached so quickly,  and yet in did. Only to be let down. Thrown down.

Although I should move on, memories of happiness in others causes me physical pain and disgust.

I still wait for you, although I shouldn't.

Fly Racing...

So today, whilst nonchalantly sipping my instant coffee (only the best for me) and watching my dog lick the last of my cereal milk from the bowl (which eventually ended up almost under the couch), I noticed several flies on the window.

Since we leave the doors open for the pets, flies are not an uncommon occurrence in the house—at any given time, we probably have 2-3 hanging around, pissing off the dogs that are too lazy/too scared to work their way around the cats to eat them. These flies, however, were different.

Three small, determined little bastards seemed to be in a race to get to the top of the window. Not sure why, but they're not at the top of the evolutionary food chain for a reason, now aren't they? Anyways, seeing as how I've working in the horse racing industry for entirely too long, I started narrating their race, adding little names to them as they scuttled.

“It's Fly Me to the Moon in the lead, followed closely by Free Flyin' and Flyin' High bringing up the rear—Free Flyin' is closing the gap and might just catch up—OH NO! Free Flyin' has fallen off the fucking window and hit the sill behind the couch! Fly Me to the Moon seems to have taken a break and is resting—this could cost him dearly in the last leg. Flyin' High has forgotten where he's going, and—yes folks, he appears to be wandering SIDEWAYS on the track! Free Flyin' is still trying desperately to get back in the game, but he can't seem to figure out how to get out from between the window and the couch! He's jumping, he's flyin', but he keeps hitting the window and OOOH NOOO he's down again! Now it's between Fly Me to the Moon and Flyin' High, he's going, going, goooone! Folks for the third consecutive time, Fly Me to the Moon has won the Window Cup!”

I probably spent a good 10 minutes doing this....this is why I shouldn't be left to my own devices when I am in possession of caffiene.

And my dog just won't stop barking at them...

“The fireflies are out.”

They float and turn like some burning ember drifting from a fire, catching on the leaves and in the air before fading away almost as quickly.

Something new for me, a west-coaster. We have frogs, we have slugs, and we have mosquitos. But fireflies? No, nothing so quaint, so dainty, so memorable as those horny little beetles anxious to get a piece before they pass along into the soil they spent so much time cradled in.

I sit outside, the pale, sickly blue-yellow sky fading into a dusty indigo flecked with stars as I look farther and higher up. Trees form near-silhouettes on the border of my vision around me, surrounding me with a quiet arena of summer evenings.

They're pretty slow-moving, these fireflies. They nearly lumber about in the air, seemingly unconcerned by birds, bats or the easily distracted house cat. Just embers, drifting off to sleep, flicking off and on from the corners of your vision and skipping out of sight when you look at them, like when you rub your eyes too hard with your fists.

Power cables stretch across the backyard, and the bugs glint into a nearby lawn, behind the bushes and out of my line o fision.

Except one. Or two. They always come back. Just to remind you that they're still there. That they're still horny, still looking for a mate, and still drifting slowly away from that fire, and ever back towards the soil...

Baby Cage for Sale!

Ladies and Gentlenerds, I know having kids is hard. I mean, I don't have any of my own, or anything, but people tell me it's hard, and I once tried to raise a beta, and that was pretty frustrating. I imagine it's kind of the same thing, only with less fecal matter on the plants. Or maybe not, whatever.

One minute, you're organizing your eighteen tubs of Transformers by vehicle type and color (sub-categorized by quality of figure transformation, of course), the next, some little newborn nerdlet rugrat who clawed its' way out of your/your wife's/your partner's body with all the grace of a chest-burster on acid is jamming Arcee into orifices of your house you didn't even know it had (and you thought light sockets were your biggest problem!).

The madness ends now.

My dear nerdies, I present to you...The Baby Cage ZX2K.

Long gone are the days of penning your kid up in the kitchen like some common criminal while you overclock your hard drive (there are knives the kitchen! Sharp ones! The kid could use one of them to cut through the gate—and then no one would be safe!).

Made of ultra-durable, non-toxic Fenethylline, each Baby Cage is lined with luxuriously soft, easily cleanable, satin-lined Polyethylene. Allow your baby to bask in the lap of luxury by lapping at their state of the art, removable, wide-mouthed water bottle—conveniently attached with only the highest-quality stainless steel wire and outfitted with a medical-grade silicone nipple for the little allergy-prone bugger (he is your child, after all).

“But what about the gate,” you ponder? “Why, my little mouth-breather just chewed through my life-sized, stainless steel, model Buster sword like it was the human flesh he seems to have become so accustomed to.” Worry not, my friends! The gate of the Baby Cage ZX2K is made of nothing short of ultra-light, ultra-durable, titanium-alloy-coated steel bars. Even if he does manage to gnaw his way through the bars, it should slow him down long enough to get your PS1 black labels to safety.

With only 3 payments of $39.95, the Baby Cage ZX2K can be your ticket to financial independence and the solitary, non-committal lifestyle you've dreamed about since you saw that first grainy ultrasound. Order now, supplies are limited.

Happiness

Having someone choose someone else over you is a hard thing to accept. It's like they're saying, “You're not good enough for me, I'm choosing someone better. Someone who's worth my time.”

You hold onto that person with a piece of your heart—no matter how small—and, just when you think you've managed to accept and come to terms with the way life is in that particular situation, it throws you another twist and you're socked in the stomach without even the chance to clench.

So many people forget. Forget what it's like to be loved, what it's like to love others, or at least show that person the common decency that's supposed to be allotted to any other individual. Jobs, romance, relationships of any kind, really, are simply thrown out the window like your effort meant nothing. Like the work you put in, the heart, that shard of yourself—just wasn't enough to matter. Before you know it, that attempted masterpiece you've spent years sculpting, tweaking, trimming and curving just right has fallen to pieces, and you're left with a filthy slop, a heap of sludge and rubble of what you once were—what you once had.

The people who do these things, often times, are thinking of no one but themselves in that situation. It's a dog-eat-dog world, as they say, and if we don't grab a little bit of happiness for ourselves, then who will? The hurt it can cause, however, is often overlooked, even neglected, leaving the rest of us out in the cold.

These people are concerned with their own happiness, and not the happiness of others, or even what constitutes kindness in these situations. Their happiness, their joy in life, is so unattainable for them, that they must then turn to rejecting things they find hard, difficult, or unpleasant, even if it means getting diamonds in the end. They are to be pitied, to be learned from, to be sad for, not about. Tearing you down is not always a conscious decision for them, but it does not make that action right.

Do not let these people step over you to what is—in their eyes—the next great thing. Do not hold on to the past, do not let their choice hurt you in your everyday life. Grieve for the hurt, and mourn the loss of a friend, lover or missed opportunity. The opportunity lost was theirs. Don't forget that, and don't let it affect you for too long. Don't dwell on the past, it can only hinder your future.

And don't step over others in your search for your own happiness.

I'm fucking FAMOUS!

So, I started writing for this nerd website called The Nerdy Bomb--you should check it out, it's pretty awesome.

Aaaanyways, I wrote an article about my level of righteous anger over the degradation of Harley Quinn's character and outfit over the years, and it has more hits than any other article on the site!!!

For the two of you that read this blog, check out www.thenerdybomb.com. I loves it!