iGod

Don't freak out, I'm not being blasphemous, it's a play on words. Keep reading and you'll understand. Lately I've taken to wearing tiny little keys on a silver chain around my neck. I found them when I was cleaning last month. I think once upon a time they were for the locks on my families luggage. Somehow they ended up in one of several junk drawers I have. So I looped them on my chain, at the same time removing my cross. This was probably a month ago. Then earlier this week, when I was talking with my landlord he asked me what the keys were for. We joked about it for a minute, and then I said I grew tired of wearing my cross. He told me that I should never grow tired of wearing a cross. And then I said I wasn't tired of God, but wearing a cross is more fashion then faith these days. In some social circles having a cross around your neck has become an act of rebellion. I don't think he understood what I meant, because things got awkward real quick. So then I switched subjects and told him I was moving out. That got a response. But I was being honest about the cross thing. I was sick of people making assumptions and comments and jokes about my wearing one. Classically, you're supposed to wear one if you are polite, proper, church going, non vulgar Christian who wants the world to know that you would hug Jesus if you saw him on the street. But I'm none of those things. Except Christian. I would own up to being Christian. But I have the mouth of a sailor, the manners of an Italian and haven't been to church since whatever the last church holiday was. So once people realize I'm not a Sunday Christian, and/or gay, they begin to think that I'm being disrespectful or that I'm mocking someone or something by wearing a cross around my neck. Most people assume that a swearing, passionate, homo( like myself ) wouldn't have a relationship with God. Or have faith in anything besides Madonna or Gucci. Or Vodka. Now I'll admit that I have been moved to every emotion known to mankind through the music of Madonna, but I don't bow down to her or plan on building an alter to her. I don't care too much for what Gucci does, or high fashion in general. And I tend to pray a lot when vodka is involved, but I don't think the prayer counts when you are hunched over a toilet vomiting. The truth is, I have faith. And I talk to God. I have so so so so much faith. And I probably talk to God more then you do. You see, when you are me, you have to have faith. You have to talk, argue, yell, and listen to God. Otherwise, well, otherwise I would have just been another suicide statistic. Or another victim of bullying who punched his own number. Or another homo who quit God due to a bullshit sermon delivered by a radical, asshole, pastor. But I am nothing if not durable. And I think that's due to God. I feel like my mother also showed me how to endure and be silently awesome too, but God probably gets most credit. It's because I'm durable that I never quit early, or gave up, or walked away. Lord knows I wanted to, several hundred thousand times, but I hung in there. I kept talking to him and yelling at him and even swearing at him, but at least we were speaking. And since I kept communication open, he kept opening doors. He kept talking to me. And he is a crafty man, he knew I wasn't going to be reached in a church on Sunday mornings, so he found new ways to talk to me. Like my iPod. I sort of thought as my running time as my faith time already. The sidewalks were my church. But not in that bullshit way where people stand on street corners handing out water bottles with scripture taped to it. I mean that when I go running I am by myself, so I can talk to God. And we can sort through things and try to find solutions to all the big fucking problems in my world. And the little fucking problems too. Sometimes he just sort of puts ideas or phrases in my head while I'm running, which is cool, but my favorite is when he picks the next song on my iPod and the lyrics tell me exactly what to do, or encourage me to keep on living. Sometimes songs play and I don't remember purchasing them on iTunes, or downloading them at all. But they're on there, and they begin pumping through my earbuds right when God wants them to. So, do I sound like a crazy person because I think God talks to me through my iPod? Well, I don't fucking care what you think. So keep it to yourself. I don't care if you think I shouldn't wear a cross. I don't care if you think I should watch what I say. I don't care if you don't like my bruised knuckles. I don't care if you don't like my personality. I don't care if you think I shouldn't talk about God. I don't care if you think I'm going to hell because I have the tendency of falling in love with guys. Why are you judging my anyways? You aren't part of the Holy Trinity. You don't get to judge me, only God can judge me. So piss off. Because at the end of the day you are just as dirty, rotten, bloodied, guilty, loathsome and terrible as I am. So I'm going to do what I'm going to do. And you can do what you want to do. And we can live in the same world. And sometimes I'll wear a cross. And if you come across me when I'm wearing it, don't make a stupid comment. Because that would make my cross. And then I'll have to curb stomp you. Capice?

"just like a prayer, your voice can take me there" -Madonna

DOMS

DOMS- delayed onset muscle soreness. Or, in my case, delayed onset mental stress. The last 48 hours have been all kinds of painful. Got a call saying my dad is in the ER. Went back to working normal shifts because third shift days are over. Got a letter of rejection, pretty much a "dear john letter", from Macys. Oh! Wait! It gets better. Was told by New York that he has a special someone, and that his intentions with me (YET AGAIN!) are strictly platonic, for the time being. Well thank cheesecake it's only for the time being...whatashmuck!...since I only have one remaining martini glass I decided not to throw it across the room like the fated glasses that went before it. Since I'm done with smoking the anger away, I refused to buy a pack. And since I don't have a special someone to have an angry make out session with. I went running. At two in the morning. For a very, very, very long time. So today I'm feeling some hardcore DOMS, but since I'm still feeling some hardcorse DOMS, I'm lacing up my gymshoes and charging the iPod for round two. Funny how DOMS leads to DOMS. OH! And it's really funny how relationships lead to bad romances. Which, in turn, lead to good remixes which give way to great playlists. DOMS ain't got nuthin on me!

“Run like hell and get the agony over with.” -Clarnece DeMar

Nice To Meet You

I did most of my Christmas shopping today, cut checks for house bills, and did grocery shopping. I have no money. None. And I just had a payday.


Dear Money,
It was very nice meeting, I hope you enjoyed your stay. I wish you the best of luck in your next venture.

Sincerely,
Me

I'm ready to start auctioning off internal organs on Craigslist just to make ends meet. Yikes. Oh well, what can you do. You just keep running, hoping that you stay ahead of everything chasing you down.

-Let It Settle

Want to know something I love? I love having milk and cookies while standing up in the kitchen, leaning over the sink or the counter top. Want to know something I really don’t like? I really don’t like it when the cookie crumbs settle at the bottom of the cup of milk. It just ruins it for me. Enjoying some delicious coconut crèmes or maybe some almond sandies, and then finishing the milk only to be greeted by a mouthful of soggy cookie mush. It’s like what backwash would taste like if you were splitting a bottle with the Cookie Monster. It’s such an unpleasant way to end the milk and cookies experience, and there is no way of avoiding it. If anyone ever figures out how to dunk a cookie without bits of it getting into the milk, please let me know. And it’s not like you can just dump the milk out, how could you ever waste such an amazing drink? Plus you can’t have a cookie without some milk; it just goes against the natural order of things. The mouse didn’t ask for cranberry juice, or a mimosa, after he was given a cookie. No, he asked for some good old fashioned moo juice. Now if there was a way to dunk a cookie in milk and have the crumbs get caught by some sort of straining device, now that would be lovely; but something tells me that much effort might diminish from the simplicity and excellence of milk and cookie time. So, maybe, sometimes you just have to put up with settling. But when you aren’t standing over the kitchen sink, it’s hard to tell what you should and shouldn’t settle for.

Having spent more then my fair share of time in the kitchen lately, whether it be for cooking, eating or cleaning up after everyone, I finally got back to running again. It has been one of those things I kept saying I was going to get back into. Like finishing the great American classics. Or trying to sit through Citizen Kane. Or remembering how to conjugate a verb in Spanish. But I felt like I was cheating myself if I didn’t actually make time to go running. I’ll admit I first had to quit smoking, which made me a complete annoyance to be around, but once that was out of my system I was free to run. It didn’t take long for my old competitiveness to kick in. Not towards the several other neighborhood runners who I usually pass, but towards myself; I am my own worse track coach. Or track Nazi as it were. I can’t seem to let myself settle for anything other then balls to the wall long distance running. I wanted to get back into it all slowly, start with an easy afternoon jog, but then my brain remembered that it solemnly swore to never jog but only to run. Needless to say, forty minutes later I was soaked in sweat so much that it looked like a photo shoot for Details magazine. When I made it back to the front door I realized how much I missed running, and how stupid I was to settle for a cigarette instead of a good long run. Having decided to never settle again when it comes to finding ways to stay at a size 30 waist, I began to think of when you can’t help but to settle.

Sometimes when it comes to relationships you can’t help but settle. I’ve learned that bi-monthly phone calls and sporadic textversations is as good as its going to get with some people in my life. I’ve come to accept that some people from my past will always be just a memory, despite my trying to include them in my present. And sometimes you have to settle to keep some people who are in your past at arms length, because it’s for the best. The best may not always be what you want it to be, but sometimes you have to settle for it. This is an odd thing to think about; settling for the best. Dating and relationships is a complete bitch when it comes to thinking about settling. I don’t mean settling down, I’m years from that kind of thing, I mean who may and may not be right for you. It’s easy to think that the prettiest, sexiest, most charming is the only thing acceptable for you, but it might not be the best thing for you. This is where you have to learn to settle for the best and the best thing for you. This, as you may have guessed, is not easy and very time consuming. Thank God there are milk and cookies to help you while you think about it.