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Effortlessly Average

Sort of half-heartedly leading the charge into mediocrity since, oh, let's say around 1987 or so.

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Location: Roaming (additional charges may apply), Argentina

Proof that with internet access and a powerful laxative, even insipid people will blog; the place where your excellence and my mediocrity collide; where my Karma whips ass on your dogma.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Compared to A Cartoon, I'm Hung

I was sitting here about to write this heart felt post about my conversation with her last night, when I thought I'd pen - nay, type - a resply (that's my own word-vention for "response" and "reply") to the two people who were kind enough to leave comments on my last post. But, before I did, I noticed that I included a picture of myself in that post and it just so happened to line up with the WeeMee picture on my side bar, and it got me thinking (yeah, maybe I'm the one with ADHD, right? Not her?). Anyway, as I'm looking at those I'm wondering, does that WeeMee really look like me?

Well we both have a goatee, although I think mine looks better, so score one point for me. I've also got a more proportionate body. I mean really, my WeeMee has some damned short legs. I'll bet short pants go all the way to his feet. So we won't even comment on the size of his WeeNee, either. That's another point in my favor. Wait, make that two points. Any time you can say you've got a bigger WeeNee than the next guy, it's worth at least two points, even if that other guy is a cartoon. And by the way, look closely; why does it look like his fly is open? Now sit back and wonder to yourself "why the hell was I just looking really closely at a cartoon's crotch?"

Ok, so he's got a more visible six-pack than I do. But hey, I've still got one; I just keep it covered with this layer of blubber to prevent it from being scratched. He's also hairless on his chest, whereas I, being the manly man I am, have a healthy covering of fur for those lady types to run their fingers through.

I think the halo is over doing it, don't you? Coupled with those shades and that shit-eating grin, you just know he's been up to something. Which means he's exactly like me in that sense, althoug my halo is dented, tarnished, and doesn't glow quite so brightly as it did a few months ago. And he's got his Starbucks, also a reflection of me. Mmmmmm... grande non-fat two-pump white chocolate mocha with no whip. That's good eats there.

He's on the beach, too, which is where I want to be. Well, where I was, actually, but if that were a picture of me, you'd see dark clouds and high surf behind him. So maybe he's got me beat on that count.

What is the score now? 4-2? 6-9? 15-all? I dunno. Regardless of the score, I win because I have a bigger WeeNee than he does. Besides, at least my head isn't half the size of my entire body. How does he hold that mellon up? Must be why he's got no neck: it's been compressed into his torso by the weight of that bowling ball perched on top.

I do like his hair though. I wish I could get mine that color. But unfortunately people have this weird thing about trusting their finances to a guy who's hair looks like it caught the gout. Go figure.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Into A Broader World

Yes, I am back safe from Mexico. Some might say that traveling into the path of a Category 5 hurricane makes me a "Dumbass" (who? Oh... my dad, mom, brother, sister, friends, mailman, that guy I met on the street last week, my brother's 3-year old step son, some strangers in the airport), but I prefer the term "adventurer." Just wait till I travel to an erupting volcano so I can get some kick-ass pictures! (and if you think I'm kidding, I popped out to the Oracle as soon as I typed this to see what's out there. heh.) Anywho...

Due to recent, non-Dean related events I almost cancelled the Mexico trip, but decided that if I'm going to emerge from this feeling able to love again, I need to begin healing, for myself and my kids.
And that means memories that do not include her. That means reminding myself why I'm worth being married to despite how broken and undesirable this has made me feel and sorting out all the thoughts swirling in my head. It means accepting my role and the fact that she's going to say and do whatever she feels necessary to justify the results and heal herself. It's not all my fault, but it's not all hers either. It means letting go of the pain of feeling like a victim, both because I know I'm not and because it's counter-productive. And it means understanding that despite how uncaring it feels, she is, for now, going to display more understanding, compassion and caring for just about everyone else than she does for me, although she likely believes she's treating us all the same.

Finally, it means remembering I'm a good man, a good husband, and a good father and that while I may have my share of baggage, it's not so much that it requires an army of porters to haul around despite the fact that I've often made a bigger deal of it than it really is, but in reality it's only one bag, and yes, it will fit into the overhead compartment. If someone wanted to, they could of course point to any number of issues from my past in an effort to compile a laundry list of transgressions (of mine and my family's) to use as a reason to deem me unworthy. What I need to do now is remember that the list of positive qualities is far greater, and have a much greater impact on those around me.

I have many, many stories to tell, from trying to find a way to dodge the hurricane to trying to avoid getting lost in the streets of Cuernavaca. I felt like Hemingway sometimes (in spirit, not in talent): sitting in cafes in small towns writing longhand in my leather-bound journal while watching the rain fall and sipping Mayan Coffee.

I met some amazing people along the way: three Belgian girls backpacking across Mexico; a Brit who comes each year to keep up on her Spanish; a Merida school teacher who showed me around the town square; many people fleeing the hurricane; and a French-trained chef who taught me to make tamales and other authentic Mexican cuisine. Oh, and I got to watch Cars in Spanish, too. You know how funny it is to hear Lightening McQueen say "Ca-chow!" with a Mexican accent?

Each day I attempted to write in my journal. I received a very nice leather-bound journal for my birthday and took it with me to record my ideas, experiences and thoughts. And I had many of all. I figure I'll share those with you by reprinting them here. This trip was an odyssey of discovery in more ways than simply being in a country I've never seen before. I realized things about me - both good and not so good - that have helped bring me another step closer to self-retribution. But I'll mention that a lot more in the actual posts. Glad to be back, although not so glad to be back at work. heh. But, I've got bills to pay.
One thing I did realize while gone is that travel is all I want to do going forward. I want to take FlyBoy and the Puffinator all over this wide world, so we're already planning our next trip, sometime early next year. Much closer to today, however, I have to find something to do with my three day weekend this weekend. Any ideas?

Ik hou van jou,

Friday, August 17, 2007

A footnote in my own story

I just keep getting it wrong. But every time we go over it, I learn more. Save yourselves; I go no further. Ok, stop. I know it sounds self-piteous, and there's nothing I can do about that, but I'm now convinced it ended because of me. All me. It's done, because of my actions and reactions. She didn't start out wanting to fail, but now she has no faith, no belief, and no trust; and that's all my doing. Now the only thing to wonder is:

  • What happens when you yourself become the enemy? When the thing you most thought was destroying your chances turns out to be you? How does one live with that? When all you can do is recount times when things were different?
It's funny [he says with an ironic smile] but believing in Karma the way I do, it can't be a coincidence that my solo trip to Cancun comes at a time when Dennis is making a bee-line for the city. Whatever. Bring it on, God. You couldn't be more ashamed of me than I already am of myself. What, I don't warrant a Category 5? Whatever. I'll see you on the beach when your wrath makes land, Mister.

You think I'm wallowing in self pity? No. Self pity is for those who feel sorry for themselves but don't really believe they are at fault. I accept this blame, and I don't feel sorry for myself, I just feel sorry. Sorry for all I've done to push it over the cliff. Self pity? No. First, spend a day knowing what I do about what I've done to one I should have treated differently. Then tell me of self pity. Until then, it's just fact, plain and simple. And in these words, I disgust myself even more; what used to be considered a gift, now feels like something I use to twist events to my own benefit. It's one thing to destroy someone's trust; it's entirely another to destroy their "church." There's no coming back from that.

Save yourselves people. Because you never know when it will all crash around yer feet. Yes, I am truly... a piece. of. work.

I'm out. Mi Aime Jou.

- The Number of People Stunned by My Mediocrity