Awkward Problems

Normally, I’m the last person to bitch about fatigue. Lately, I feel that’s not the case because I’m more tired than I’ve been in years. With what’s happened in the last couple of days, a bit of personal time would not kill me. Yes, I’ve noticed I’ve become something of a cliche as of late. The last thing I want to become is a self-parody, but I figure by next week, the way I view the world will be very awkward to say the least.

I attribute my energy drain to Long Beach, since I just finished putting in a massive four days of work. Sunday, I chaperoned at a friend’s 21st birthday. That was pretty damn awkward for reasons that will be discussed on my E! True Hollywood Story. The real catch is that I’ve been in training for the last three days to become a teacher. Yes, I’m an official employee of the State of California via the California State University system. Score! I’m also a union member, but this time, I don’t feel like the union is led by incompetent buffoons. Why? Comm majors are in charge! There were a few mock scenarios, and I drew the revealing drug addict during the first day of classes. Now, I would’ve preferred something dirtier, but no, I got druggie. That was awkward, because the first thing I’d like to do is call the authorities and have that miscreant thrown in rehab. According to the rules, I could probably do that, but still, why couldn’t I have a student hit on me? Probably for the same reason that we received a crash course in suicide prevention.

Salsa Club threw an event at the Heritage Museum in Orange County. It was fun and all, could have used more people, but that’s a small worry considering who we have in charge. What was notable was that my favorite second banana was the DJ for the event. Yep, Skylar was back, and there was a ton of catching up to do. The jokes still work, chemistry still flows, and he might have another two years here. I’m starting to think I might get spoiled to know that my next two years here could be stacked with all of my weapons in play. Need sleep. Need an apartment. Don’t need a new outlook on the offense, for the time has come where the world wants me to take a stand. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Shinedown “Devour”

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Ciderland

I drove five hours to Watsonville in search of S. Martinelli and Co., maker of my favorite brand of apple cider. This is a trip that I can say was years in the making, even if I didn’t know it until a couple of months ago. Didn’t truly have the opportunity until this week, and it took for me to sacrifice a Saturday off to make it work. Lo and behold, I made it to Northern California, and voila, I became the owner of 60 bottles of exotic cider. What makes cider exotic? Well, the varieties down here do not include cherry, mango, peach, raspberry, or wild berry. All in all, I spent about $140, which included a hat to mark our trip. Yes, Brandon bought 12 bottles, but the lightweight he is…only 12 bottles? I dig this, I dig this very much. My thoughts on the scenery can be boiled down to “beautiful green.” There was so much green along the way that it wasn’t really the California I know. Watsonville reminded me of El Segundo, except that my adopted hometown does not have farms surrounding. Could retire there, though.

I met my colleagues in the grad cohort, and I must say, we have a bunch that’s on board to rock. Grad school is starting soon, work is still work, and I think I may go full speed ahead with a prospect I’ve been considering. This could be fun. I figure that I will lose half my body weight with my schedule and intensity, which would be suicidal in most cases and downright insane in mine. Must do powerpoints…eventually. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Ke$ha “Mr. Watson”

Absence of Loss

Ironic title, but trust me, it’ll make sense in a bit. When a parent dies, it is natural for a person to feel grief, sorrow, sadness, or any other word I can think of from Mrs. Stucken’s lexicon of SAT words. I’ve been told I’m apathetic to a maddening degree, and I could agree on some level. Well, I found out my father died a few months ago, and I haven’t a single clue how I should feel.

Something’s amiss here. No tears, headaches, tissues, anything? Months?

Granted, my father and I did not have much of a relationship, so there are few memories I could ponder. The few I have lean towards bad, but still, nothing for me to be truly happy or upset about. I know that if it was my mother, I’d be highly upset to say the least. This is different; I’m devoid of tears or even joy. What I do know of my father is that apparently we share some personality quirks, such as the tendency to be blunt at a moment’s notice. Alright, I’m sugarcoating it; we’re both assholes. Well, I am, and he was…interesting dichotomy. Hell, he wasn’t even at my graduation. Shouldn’t I feel something? I’m heading to Watsonville in the morning to pick up cases of apple cider, and a person half responsible for my DNA is gone. I showed more emotion watching salsa teams perform, and that’s not right.

School’s starting, and it’s inopportune for me to even try to grieve over a situation I am clueless about. I’ll have time for introspection later; for now, this lesson plan won’t write itself. I won’t even pretend to be sad, because my mother did all the heavy lifting, and he wasn’t even there. Though he wasn’t there for me in my life, I can admit to learning a valuable lesson:

My kids will at least have an opinion of me, because I’ll be there for them like my mother’s still here for me.

Man Among Men

There’s a rule about occurrences and coincidences that I can’t quite remember at the moment. It concerns whether something’s awry if it becomes repeated. Crap, I’d really like to know what that theory is, because it’ll probably eat me alive until it clicks. Either way, I feel like there’s been a lot of stupid incidences that have happened that can’t be coincidences. I’m quick to get pissed off when I feel like I’m being duped. Some faults from others I forgive because human nature stipulates that some people are just flawed. Other times, I’d like to beat the offender within an inch of life for playing me as a fool. The signs are there, and I’m not blind.

I hung out with Stephanie a couple days ago, and it was a welcome change from the usual. It’s like going from a spotfest to a scientifically wrestled match, if that means anything. Her views on life haven’t changed since high school, and that’s what made us a good pairing, despite her newfound love of rap music. Seriously, rap? Why not country? T.I.’s not even that good…barring the one song that I have on my iPod. Hearing her analyze the clusterfuck that was my lovelife was more of the same, yet vibrantly different. It also made me realize how much I miss Pippa. That was not the intended effect. However, neither was the news that I went soft over the last few months.

I’ve been keeping tabs with a colleague from school that has grown on me like a cancerous growth. It’s odd talking to someone about nothing but serious matters. What does the future have in store and all that jazz. I’ve wondered what it’d be like to be nervous about important matters (like, you know, a professional life), but it has never been a concern. On the other hand, don’t get me started on the idea that I may die alone. I’m thinking about stuff I shouldn’t consider for at least a good ten years. Either way, this is definitely the beginning of something dangerous, because school (cliche alert) is around the corner, and as always, I’m on guard.

I’m concluding my summer the way I ended my school year: with a heavy diet of salsa. I’m just about fully back, and it feels good…as it should. New ideas, new blood, but possibly the same old shit when it comes to who’s (not) sleeping with who, among other things. I’ve helped out with coaching duties for my team, and, well, some people really needed the motivation. I won’t say too much because I wouldn’t pay to watch them perform if they’re not going to kick it into high gear. Whoops, said too much. Screw that. Trip to Watsonville on Thursday to visit what I will affectionately refer to as “Ciderland.” I want to go to Ciderland, and I’m on my way, even though my convoy might not be as planned. I expected as much, but horseshoes and hand grenades are all I can ask for at this point. Maybe another cosmopolitan (with my professors!) will salvage my growing distrust of people as a whole.

Er, and to rectify that problem about dying alone. How many of my colleagues are single again? Or even better, how many of them would have a fling with a guy who has a Camaro and his own place? Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – W.A.S.P. “Charisma”

Semper Paratus

Hello, August. I love it how this month is the precursor to me becoming august. I also love how I can commit simple wordplay because my vocabulary is colossal. Start game.

I’ve spent more time in Long Beach than I originally planned due to my job screwing me over, and an invitation to research ahead of schedule. It turns out that after this, I will officially be published. It is starting to weigh on me that I’m officially an adult now, and being an adult comes with great responsibility. Or, more aptly, it comes with more tasks to complete that may take more time than I have budgeted. I’m sure there are a few items I’m forgetting that I’ll catch up to in a matter of hours…

But apartment hunting will not be one of them, because that’s how I’m spending my latter half tomorrow. The morning will be dedicated to research, so afterwards, I’m taking my tale…no, that’s not right. I’m looking at a couple of facilities that could potentially house the epically uncoiffed anomaly that is me. Yes, I rhymed that whole sentence. The only thing I seek is hardwood floors, and these two places have it. A little lime green paint, a few belts, and a Celtics banner would make The Palace of Wisdom fit for a Shaman.

First, I have to figure out why the decor is the way it is, and why I’m not opting to change it. I guess the old man in me is losing to the little kid underneath. This being single thing gets to me each passing day, but the feeling is different. Earlier, it was more instances and smaller pain; since I’m busier, they’ve become less frequent, but more intense when I think about it. I’d like to question the person in charge how I can achieve so much, yet remain unable to reconcile that I’m blessed with certain talents and have to charge it to the game that I can’t have it all. Of course, I’ve mentioned I’d trade it all for a stable relationship that’s calm and quaint. Sometimes…I just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. Optimism could be one of my strong points, but it’s getting harder to fathom that I could come this far, go farther, yet do it alone. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Beethoven “Ode to Joy”