Whoopsie Poopsies.

So it's been a little while. Had a pretty eventful summer. Medical problems, deck building and just general laziness. I am in my last semester of college and it will be a doozy. The main thing I gotta do, besides pass, is work on my senior capstone. Which will be a movie I wrote.

Here I am shooting the first scene.

I have to admit, I am really nervous. This is a project that is more detailed and complex than anything I have ever worked on. The excitement I'm feeling is overwhelming and is only equal to the gut-wrenching fear. This project is a big step.

With all that being said, I will try to keep up with the updates. I forgot how relaxing it is to just write about things in my past or funny experiences that happen to me. A lot of good ones happened this summer alone such as fights, hilarious junkie meetings and other things.

Stay golden.  

This golden.

Crying, ain't it a bitch?

I just had a birthday recently and am almost 30 years old. It is a bit surreal. Becoming older, I have noticed interesting things happening to me. Almost like hitting puberty all over again. Only instead of zits and awkward boners, I throw out my back doing simple tasks and get awkward boners.

They awkward as hell.

One thing I have noticed, and I will probably lose coveted "man points" and "street cred" for this, is that I cry a lot more during movies than I ever have before.

As previously stated in other posts, I use to be in a gang. While in the gang, one does not show emotion. Ever. Emotions are viewed as a sign of weakness. Even when one of the homies dies, do not cry. Being apart of these jolly group of gentlemen, I followed these rules to a 'T.' For all the years apart of them, I never cried and I never cried for the years following. One could say I was a stone cold gangsta.

You know they are hardcore when their pants are pressed. 

Years past and I left that life behind. I began to open up a bit more, but still never cried. Cut to December of 2005. I went to a movie that changed all of this. I saw Peter Jackon's King Kong. It was filled with action, suspense, and a giant gorilla punching dinosaurs. The end of the movie is what changed my life. When King Kong died, I started to cry. This shocked me. I quickly exited the theater and ran to my truck. It was there that I cried for another five whole minutes.

When I was finished, I cleaned myself up and drove home. My mind tried to comprehend what happened. Anger filled my body. I quickly suppressed this strange event and carried on with my day.

I cried three times just looking at this picture.

The following years, I began to get emotional at certain things. I would well up during some movies. Tears would stream down my face when I listened to some songs. Sometimes it felt like my body was trying to make up for all the years of not crying.

I hated it.

My wife has assured me that it is okay to cry. Crying is not bad. I know she is right, but I still hate it. The other day I was watching The Coen Brother's version of True Grit. When Rooster Cogburn had to put down Blacky after he rode it to death, I lost it. I bawled. Again, I felt stupid. I figure it is something that I will have to deal with.

I am becoming more emotional in my old age.

Pictured: Me now after listening to Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones.

Sunday Night's Alright for Fighting

This is a story that happened just recently. I was at the college working on some lame documentary project and it was getting late. After putting many hours in said lame documentary I was ready to call it a night. I saved all my progress, turned off the lights and trudged out to my truck. It was time to go home and away I went.

Driving through the town of Desert, Utah on a Sunday night is always great. There is not a lot of people out and the whole town has a hushed and quiet tone. I really enjoy it. On this night, however, things were about to get noisy.

A hive of scum and villainy.

While rushing home, I made a turn onto a street and cut off a small car. I have to admit that it was totally my fault and I was a huge dick. I could have waited literally two seconds and this whole story would not have happened, but I didn't. A huge douche was I. Now the person was behind me. Pissed.

The person was revving their engine and riding my tail. I was apologizing in my rear view. This did not help the situation and looking back, this person probably thought I was flipping them off. As we drove through town, all the while this person is continuing their dance of revving, honking and tailing. It was going to be a long ride home.

I am the cause of his pain.

After a couple minutes, I rolled up to a stop sign and did what the sign asked. The person behind me slammed on the breaks and squealed to a stop. Then I heard the door open and close. Peeking in the rear view, I saw the person, a disheveled man who looked like the actor French Stewart if French Stewart enjoyed meth for a number of years. I let out a sigh.

French Stewart told me to roll down the window. I was a bit curious, so I obliged. He had some choice words for me. Most of them involving a word that rhymes with duck. One thing that I noticed about Mr. Stewart was he smelled like alcohol. Bad. French then ordered me to step out of my truck. I told him I was not going to do that. He yelled some more. I was sick of him, so I stepped out.

Now I am a pretty big guy, so my wife tells me, and that is something I always forget. French Stewart noticed my size and took a step back, but because he was powered by alcohol he did not back down. I told him I was sorry and I did not want to fight. French Stewart did not care about things like laws and reasons and because of that he took a swing.

He looked like this, only less crazy.

 I have to admit, I was a bit shocked. French Stewart landed me square on the job and hit me a bit harder than I thought he would. I rubbed my jaw and looked at French. He knew he was in it and it was on. I straightened up and raised my fists. I stepped in and punched him square in the nose. French stumbled and fell right on his back. 

He groaned a bit and I walked over to him. I asked him if he needed help and he shook his head. I reached down and helped him up and into his car. The whole time I kept asking if he needed me to call an ambulance or a ride to the doctor. French was a bit confused, stunned and kept shaking his head. I made sure he was in all the way and closed his door. He sped away. I rubbed my jaw, which still ached a bit and walked back to my truck.

I let out a laugh and drove home. Life can be interesting.

In this story, I am played by Channing Tatum.

The Magic of New Years

I hope everyone had a great New Years Eve because I know I sure did. It started after I got off work at Barnes & Noble. I only worked 2-6:30, but I was not in the mood to be there. Reason being, I had just finished in the huge war campaign of Holiday Retail and I was shell shocked and jaded. And like a soldier returning home, they called me back into duty for the smaller battle of New Years Eve.

Once finished, I got a call from my friend, Baby Gorilla. He wanted to know if partying was in my agenda for the evening. Regretfully, I informed him that it was not and that I was going to spend the evening with my wife, drink some sparkling cider and watch movies. Boring, yes, but I did not care. I was burnt out from working and wanted to actually relax this Christmas Break. I told Baby Gorilla this and he proceeded to insult my sexuality.

Yeah yeah yeah. I love dressing up as a woman of the evening and performing sex acts on senators.

Pictured: Me

I told him to enjoy his night, be safe and only call me if something is horribly wrong.

That was my mistake.

Baby Gorilla cursed my name one more time and hung up. I hopped into my truck and sped home, blasting Jim Croce and singing loudly in joy as the holidays were over. I barely avoided some crotchety old man pulling into my complex. I yelled happy holidays. He flipped me off. All was good in the world.

I ran inside and greeted my smelly lovable dog, Honeybun, with a kiss and a pat on the head. Wifey was laying on the couch, fighting off a cold, and I kissed her head. I was so happy to see her. We chatted as she made tea and I started making dinner. She fed Honeybun and then we sat down to eat. Movies were booted up and my wife and I relaxed on the couch. Honeybun, fat from her meal, crawled up in between us and grunted her satisfaction as I pulled the blanket over her. All three of us. My little family. It was perfect.

It did not last long because the spirits hate me. A lot.

Especially the Spirit of the Buffalo. He is a dick.

My phone buzzed. I ignored it. It buzzed again reminding me that there were people outside my warm bubble. I sighed and looked at it.

Baby Gorilla: yo man i need you to come pickme up from this party ampretty drunk

I shot back: You cant get anyone else?

Baby Gorilla: hell no it newyearseve ad urvyone is partyin pick me up faggg lol

Gritting my teeth: If I do, you owe me. Big. Time.

I waited a moment as he debated owing me. Or he was just to drunk to read my text.

Baby Gorilla: kk hurry up it gettin w1ld

When I looked up from my phone, Wifey looked at me with sad, yet understanding eyes. She knew something was up. I told her that Baby Gorilla needed a ride as he was totally smashed. Wifey let out a sigh.

"Alright, but you owe me. Big."

Honeybun grunted, punctuating the seriousness of the debt I owed. I got up, got dressed and kissed the two. Away into the cold night I went. Baby Gorilla texted the directions and I drove as fast as I could. Angry as I was, I was still a bit nervous. I prayed Baby Gorilla was not hurt.

After about ten minutes of driving, I arrived to the house. It was a rager. Tons of people and music coming from inside. I parked on the street and walked into the house, letting myself in. People were drinking and having a good time.

This was how hard the party was raging.

I hated all of them.

A large noise came from a back room and I made my way there. I walked in to see Baby Gorilla on one side of the room and three other guys on the opposite. This was very familiar. A fight was about to go down. The three guys were yelling angrily at Baby Gorilla who was in turn yelling back, only he was more jovial. He was having a good time. I called to him. Baby Gorilla whipped around and smiled.

"Hey! I am glad you are here. We should get outta this shit hole."

One of the three looked at me and drunkenly asked if I knew him. I told him I did and I was here to pick him up. The guy walked over to me and told me that was a good idea as they were about to kick his ass. I assured him we would get out now. Baby Gorilla yelled he would leave, but he first had to use their restroom. The three of them looked amongst each other a bit confused. Finally, they agreed. Baby Gorilla could use the bathroom, but right after that he was out of there.

A good ol' fashion Bro-Down.

Baby Gorilla and I started out and he asked where the truck was. I told him. He nodded, thinking. I had a bad feeling. He told me to wait out at the truck and he would meet me there after he used the can. Walking out, my bad feeling got worse. When I reached the truck, I stared up at the stars and was reminded how beautiful nights like theses were.

I was whipped back into reality when I heard loud cursing and crashing from inside the house. I turned around to see Baby Gorilla laughing loudly. Carrying a Christmas tree over his shoulder like some deranged lumber jack. The three guys were behind him. Remember, all of them were very inebriated, so they stumbling around. Baby Gorilla almost fell at least three times in the short ten yards to my truck.

When he arrived, he threw the tree into the back and yelled at me to drive. I hopped in and tore ass down the road. The three guys drunkenly yelling in my rear view mirror as we drove away. Baby Gorilla was laughing the whole time. I gritted my teeth. It was twenty minutes to midnight and I was out driving around with a giant drunken hyena. This was when Baby Gorilla stopped laughing and slowly turned to me, eyes wide with a maddened glee.

"We need to got to the desert."

This is where I wanted to spend my New Years.

I was about to argue, but then thought otherwise. Baby Gorilla and I are about the same size, which is big. He, however, was fueled by alco-fuel. He won this time. I agreed and into the cold desert we went.

After about ten minutes of driving, we arrived in the moonlit frosty wasteland and parked the truck in a valley. We both stepped out into the biting cold, my breath was coming out in thick white puffs. I did not see my New Years ending in a frozen desert. Baby Gorilla grabbed the tree and threw it to the ground. Was this it? We were going to just leave the tree out here like two inept mob soldiers who do not know how to properly dispose of a body.

Baby Gorilla then revealed a bottle of lighter fluid from his jacket with a Cheshire grin. Looks like we were a step up from inept wise guys. I laughed. Baby Gorilla dosed the tree with the entire bottle. He pulled a lighter and lit a bit of paper on fire, tossed it on the tree and we watched the tree light up. Suddenly, a Coke appeared in front of me. Baby Gorilla revealed that he had stolen lighter fluid and the Coke along with the tree. He told me how he knew how much I like Coca-Cola. I thanked him. Even being a drunken mongoloid, Baby Gorilla was a good friend. I thanked him.

Watch out for the vomit

I popped the top and heard the delicious fizz. I took a sip. Even on a night so testicle shrinkingly cold, a Coke tasted delicious. I turned to Baby Gorilla, the fire light dancing across his face and asked him what happened in the house. He took a deep breath and told me that those 'assholes' got mad at him when he started to relieve himself on their carpet. When they started chasing him, he found the lighter fluid in the kitchen, along with the soda, and pocketed them on his way out.

I stared at him a bit dumbfounded.

"Happy New Years!"

It was midnight. He hugged me and told me how grateful he was for me as a friend. I was touched. He smiled, took a step back and threw up. Violently.

I sighed, "I love you too buddy."

The magic of friendship.