Proud of Thy Self.

Okay, so before I get into this let me give you a little background. I used to have a job located in Auburn, WA. During my employment there I had a coworker who became someone who I had to train, this individual frustrated the fuck out of me.

To this day I remember the day he tried to take a pad off of a die grinder without holding the shaft stationary. It was like he was trying to unscrew a nut from a bolt without holding the bolt, so all he was doing was turning a object in circles and not making any progress other than looking like an idiot who probably shouldn’t have that job in the first place.

I also had another coworker, who I talked to, but didn’t really care to hang out with.

Throughout the years the second coworker, who no longer lived in the same state as me found me on Facebook just based on the fact that he and I liked the same radio station/Facebook page. He commented on one of my posts on their page, it caught me off guard but was cool nonetheless.

Getting back to the first employee I mentioned, on the day I said, “If he doesn’t want to pay attention and at least pretend that he is learning something, I’m not going to try to teach him anything.” I said it in anger, and I probably shouldn’t have, he was a nice kid who was more than willing to do his job, but didn’t seem to grasp at the most basic idea.

This guy is Facebook friends with the other guy. After I stopped caring to try to teach him and just told him shit without any explanation they moved him to the other side of the shop; same department, different area. So guy 2 ended up training guy 1 and therefore ended up as friends on Facebook.

I typically never add coworkers to Facebook until I don’t work with them, I don’t want them to know too much about me.

As soon as guy 2 found me on Facebook, I get a friend request from guy 1. Whatever, I don’t care, it’s not like I’m trying to avoid him. And I come to find out that he now lives in Oregon, and at that time I was about 1 year away from moving to Oregon.

Fast forward to August 5th, 2017; I share something on Facebook about how it’s cool if you rape someone, kill someone, get in a fight the requires police action, hit your wife, or do copious amounts of drugs when you’re in the NFL  but if you sit down you’re the worst player in the history of the NFL.

So…A conversation with guy 1 came out of the woodwork, we will call guy 1 ‘Steve.’ While it was a fairly short conversation, I was proud of myself for being so clear and concise with my way of thinking. I will refer to myself in the third person, kind of. I will even edit his comments to appear as is he knows how to use words properly.

Steve: This post is so stupid. So you’re okay with people in America not standing for our flag that your founding fathers fought for?

If you’re a fan of the NFL, you know what I’m talking about so I’m not even going to share the picture. But if for some reason you have no idea what I’m talking about, I’ll let you know if you ask.


Like…really, you’re going to ask me that? After the initial “what the fuck” moment I added onto it by saying…

Daniel: Since when did they not have the right to choose not to stand?

Which sounds kinda weird because, I feel like, the word ‘not’ creates a double negative.

Steve: If they are living in the U.S.A., playing an American sport, they should show their respect to our country and its military.

Okay, so I wasn’t really going to fight him there, that…while related that was not my focus, but I was getting ready to go this road if that is where he wanted to go.

So I asked a basic question.

Daniel: Do they have to?

I figured, if you’re going to go down the route let’s try to figure out why you’re not okay with it.

I leaned that when you talk to someone who has an opposing view to yours it’s a good thing to find out where they are coming from. Hopefully force them to look at themselves instead of just telling them why they are wrong.

Steve:No body has to do anything but people have the right to lose respect for that person who won’t even show respect to their country

He more or less said what I was hoping he would, but man…a right and a freedom are two different things. While I can see a connection between to two it’s not like they stood up in 1776 and say, “Now hear this, it is your right as an American citizen to loose respect for people.”

But that did make me take the question to its next logical point.

Daniel: And the other crimes are okay?

To which he responded just as I hoped.

Steve: No they are not okay, look at O.J. and Arron Hernandez; they are in prison and because of it don’t have fans anymore.

At this point I asked myself if he knew what was going on it the world but that is beside the point.

I go onto say…

Daniel:Okay, so yes, while people have the freedom to dislike whoever, for whatever; it is massively skewed. He has the freedom to not stand because of what he deems to be an injustice. It just bothers me when all these people loose their shit because he remained within the guidelines of the law without being violent or hostel while trying to shine light on an issue that needed more exposure.

Before he could reply to that I said… But in terms of keeping the conversation in-line he said…

Steve: There are other ways to shine light. I just think it’s very disrespectful to our country and our men, they fought for our country so he can play football and he won’t even stand and show respect.

But before I replied to that I said…

Daniel: Now, if you stand for a country who is doing something that you don’t agree with, is that freedom of speech or expression? Who is the fucked up person in that situation?

I was not expecting a response from that, I just left it as something he can ponder. But I did reply to his last statement by saying…

Daniel: They fought for you to have freedom, the freedom not to.

He ended up liking that comment. I could tell he wasn’t trying to fight, neither was I.

Steve: That’s true. I just feel it’s a matter of respect.

Okay, so I took that, his definition of respect a little bit further. It was also my last comment.

Daniel: Okay, so…choosing to act in a non-violent manner about something that you disagree with is a sign of respect. Choosing to not stand is a sign of respect. They, if you want to call it that, they fought for…I could totally do a research paper on why we separated from Britain. Regardless, not standing; which is your freedom based upon a right that all American citizens have, is…showing respect. 

You have the freedom to, therefore exercising that freedom is showing respect for your country. A country and “the men” who gave you that freedom, the freedom to make a choice without being killed and vilified for doing so.

Now, blindly standing because it was beaten into your head as a kid… does that show me that you fully understand the freedom that you and all Americans have?

Are they standing because they choose to or because they were told to? And is that freedom?

And that’s that, I was actually proud that I was able to speak my point of view without sounding like an idiot who was just shouting meaningless words. And…now I’m going to go get out of my wheelchair and play Fallout 4.

Maybe I’ll get a little “some some” if I go hang out with my fiance for a few minutes.


Whoa Man, Did You See That Man!


I’m in the mood to tell you a story, a story that once happened to me; it might not be a gripping story, but a story nonetheless.  And it lets me practice using words to describe a story that makes the reader feel like he or she is there. One morning I was bored, so I was re-reading my own blog and I came to two different conclusions: When I’m typing something for awhile I’m bound to make an error in spelling and/or grammar, which sucks. And my stories, some of them are kind of entertaining, I hope; I was there, you weren’t…so your perspective is not the same as mine.

As most of you know by now a video came came out, Fallout 4…I like to play it, and spend a lot of time doing so, So much that I have yet to beat it or even take advantage of the DLC’s. I’ve downloaded Nuka-Cola the day it came out, have I played it yet? No. Why? Because I’m too worried about making sure all my settlements are built up.

I more or less spend too much time doing all the extra shit, not playing the main story line.

Anyhow this game has a system of scraping junk that you can turn into building material. One of the many things that you can scrap is a board game, a board game called Blast Radius. And this is where the idea of this story came from.

This actually happened to me, just because the video game reminded me of it, didn’t mean I’m making it up.

At the time in my life, if you read my other posts you might know some of this already, if you haven’t…Matt Hasselbeck was still a quarterback for the Seattle Seahawks and I lived in a town called Puyallup. My friend Marcus lived with me, he had a girlfriend; the two of them were popular and liked parties, because of this it was not uncommon to walk into my apartment and see twenty people walking around talking to one another even though two people lived there.

Marcus was…I don’t know if you would call him Mexican, because he wasn’t. He was born in America with a mom who has German roots and a father who he never met…from what I was told he was a guy from Mexico.  This gave Marcus that dark skin look as he stood around five feet six inches and was about two hundred pounds. He had six piecing in his face, more often then not those holes were taken up by alternative looking jewelry. Something that you could buy at Hot Topic, seven to eight years ago before the store became all “preppy hippsterish”

Two in each ear, the one in back being a larger gage then the one in the front. One in his tongue and one in that spot above your chin but under you mouth, he often liked to wear a curved piece of sliver jewelry in that piecing. Something that came out of his face and came to a point as it made a U shape as it ended under his chin.

He would often rock a mohawk too…which was not that often in all reality, but when he did his hair was dyed some unnatural color, such as blue and the mohawk was held up a foot over his hear with Elmer’s glue as it was separated into several spikes that were all perpendicular from the top of his head.

His girlfriend on the other hand, his girlfriend at the time was pretty cute. She was bigger then most girls that Marcus went after in the past. Which shocked me. She was not fat by any means, at least not according to most people. One day we were having a conversation and I said, “You got to love them, who cares if they look like they were in Playboy; you’re not trying to make other men look at her and be jealous of you, you’re trying to be happy.” Marcus somehow got into the idea that a chick standing at five foot three and weighting 150 pounds was fat. “Who cares if she has a stomach, all girls do; you shouldn’t be asking yourself if he thinks she is hot, you should be asking yourself if she makes you happy.”

She was about five foot two and came in at about one hundred and forty pounds with blond hair and blue eyes, which I found super attractive until she started trying to change the rules in my house and…Marcus was “pussy-whipped,” so anything she said was how it was. I just moved out shorty after.

My best friend Eric still lived in the same house around the block from my parents, but I was now in an apartment with a roommate. He hung out at our house a lot of the time.

Eric was your typical white boy with a drinking problem. Eric stood around five foot eight and at the time weighted about one hundred and thirty pounds. There was nothing too special about him, just picture a white dude with brown hair and blue eyes.

My other friend, from pretty much the entire time that I lived in Washington, was this guy named Dmitry. Dmitry worked out a lot and was the typical strong dude that all the women wanted to sleep with, and according to what I’ve heard from a few women he is not that tiny either. Dmitry moved to America from Lithuania, USSR at the time, in the early 90’s. His first English word(s) were, “Shut up,” which I find funny when he told me he started school and the teacher would be telling him to do something and all he did was say, “Shut up.” 

He even thought me how to say, “Bitch ass,” in Russian, which was great when you’re a kid in ninth grade.

Dmitry is about five foot eleven and one hundred eighty pounds with enough arm muscles that you would assume he can pull a car with a rope. He has blue eyes and blond hair, but now a days shaves it all off making him bald. Every now and then rocking a goatee, which is weird because it comes out red. He is also that one friend, that one friend that smokes pot every two hours on the hour.

Which I feel bad for…the second time I smoked pot was his first time smoking pot, which is another different story if I remember to write it. A year later you came to find out that he would smoke the same about of pot in 30 days ad it took me to smoke is 365 days.

My apartment manager, Marilyn, lived right next to me, she had a grand-son named Ryan who also hung out at out apartment more often then not. Ryan was the youngest of us, he was super skinny at one hundred and fifteen pounds with long brown hair, down to his shoulders. He loved rock music for the eighties and at the same time loved music that was in the same genre as Slipknot, Mudvayne, or Trivum.

He often looked like he was in a mid 90’s grunge music video. Which to be honest didn’t fall too far out of reality when you stop and think that Seattle was just a 50 mile drive north of us.

It was a rainy night, like most nights in Western Washington. I had the downstairs apartment. There were four apartments per building, and these apartment were built in the early sixties so the kitchen was practically the same size as the family room. If you went into the family room you would get to the back door. This door went out onto a massive patio that was more or less blocked off from anything.

The patio was a good twelve feet long and thirty feet wide, this is where we had a pool table and a ton of plastic chairs for all the smokers, which was 90% of most parties we had. When you went outside at looked straight you saw a hill, you were on the bottom of that hill, so that was blockage. There was also a wooden fence separating my backyard from Marilyn’s backyard, the fence went from the apartment to the hill, witch was only about twenty-five feet. Opposite of that, on the other side of the lawn was another wooden fence, this one only went from the side of the apartment to the end of the patio before getting to another hill that dropped about five feet into the parking lot.

Because of the fact that I was one the first floor the balcony of the apart above me, that was the same size, covered my entire patio. So even if it was raining, we were not it in.

That night we had about seven people in the family room smoking pot or drinking beer, seven people outside playing pool, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer. Emily on the computer being a YouTube/music DJ. Ryan, Dmitry, Eric, and I were sitting on the kitchen floor drinking beer and passing around a glass bong because Eric got the ingenious idea to play quarters.

Dmitry is one of my only friends that like Heineken, I’ll drink it and all; but like most of my friends I stuck with PBR, Rainier, MGD, Budwiser, Blue Moon, or even Icehouse.

We’re sitting there bouncing quarters against the kitchen floor trying to get it to land in the glass cup of beer. Rap music is being played, rap music from the early 2000’s, every now and then being switched to heavy metal upon Ryan’s request or country upon Eric’s request, but no one at the party was happy when country came on. Every now and then Donavin would run inside to play some Flogging Molly.

I was exhaling pot smoke, Eric was drinking his beer, and Ryan was talking about ghosts as Dmitry stood up to go get another beer. As he stood up he and took a short walk to the refrigerator he also bent down to grab his empty beer bottle that he sat on the edge of the counter.

After grabbing a new beer Marcus pops in to yell, “Hey Dema grab me a beer.” As he swung around with a beer in each hand he also hits the empty beer bottle with his arm which sends it flying towards the middle of the kitchen, where no one was sitting.

Because of the material that was tiled on the bottom of my kitchen floor there was almost no traction if you were to slide a glass bottle from side to side.

At this point in the night I was feeling pretty good, and say weird shit; it gets my point across, but…it still sounds weird because I either start talking and forget what I’m talking about as I turn it into a short story about Rainbows being different colors or I can’t find the word I’m looking for so I substitute it with something else.

I’m was now blowing smoke out as I’m watching this empty beer bottle fly thought the air in slow motion as the music being played is going at regular speed.

The bottle speeds up and crashes into the ground and upon impact shards of green glass slide each way and some of them even slide out direction. To someone else it just looked like a glass breaking and sliding all over the floor.

I’m sitting there as all my friends stand up and look like a major catastrophic event just took place and they all look at me, still sitting on the floor looking at the wall like I just made some type of profound scientific discovery. As I say “Woah man, did you see that fucking blast radius.”

And of course they laughed at me before Eric sad, “I love you man.”



Attractive Cougar

It was a Thursday, a Thursday that I will never forget. The aftermath of which came with positive and negative outcomes.

That Thursday around noon I was going to get in my car with two suitcases in the back and my lovely fiance in the front seat, sitting next to me as I drive 50 miles to and from the Omaha airport. But sadly, I didn’t even make it five miles into the one hundred mile journey before it all ended on a very sour note.

We got into the car and I backed out of my driveway after plugging my iPod into the car’s radio to listen to the new Red Hot Chili Peppers album. As I pull up to the three-way intersection at the end of my residential neighborhood I see something, something jumping onto my windshield.

But I can’t tell what it is, nor was I able to focus on it. So I figured two possible outcomes: I’m either seeing shit that’s not there, or what I saw was on the outside of my car and I didn’t need to worry about it.

A few miles down one road, turning right onto another road, and merging onto highway 77 which than lead me to travel east on interstate 80, I being a 46 mile drive before my GPS has me to something new. As I’m switching lanes to my left to get into the fastest lane of traffic my fiance says, “There is a cricket in your car.” It was over in the far lower passenger side of the windshield, I even saw it, it was not a cricket; it was a brown insect with six legs, it looked like a stick, but it was about three eights of an inch in length with a diameter of one sixteenth.

“I’m going to hit it, so don’t freak out.”

I keep playing that over and over in my mind, telling myself, “You stupid fucker, you had two…two changes to pull over, and if you did you might still have a car.”

She never hit the bug, but it did start crawling on my arm. The same arm that was holding the steering wheel. To put it short, after a series of over-correcting my wheels via the steering wheel I ended up slamming the side of my car into the concrete median that was separating both directions of traffic, which resulted in my side air bags deploying, which in all reality most likely saved my arm from slamming into glass and concrete at a fast rate of speed.

Afterwards my car got shoved the other direction, being unable to stop my car due to a loss of traction my car ended up going past two lanes of empty traffic. There were cars in each lane, but they were empty at the time that my car flew past. As my car wizzed by two lanes of traffic I headed down a hill and slammed into a fence that my car uprooted and slid under like a hot knife trying to cut thought butter and by the time I was able to stop my car I was in a wheat field.

So, my car is gone…I don’t have a car anymore. And now that I’m back in Nebraska I need to find a car that I can pay for and afford based off of what my insurance company gave me based on a total loss.

But this is not about the car accident but does lead into the next part of the story, which is the only reason I brought it up. So to wrap this part up, my car has a good safety rating and because of it neither me or Shannon had to go to the hospital. As much as I want to sit here and cry because I don’t have a car, I need to understand that a car can be replaced, a person can’t.

But that was two weeks ago now and it does not bother me that much, but now that I’m back home I need to figure out a way to get a new car.

My fiance’s flight to Portland, Oregon was the next day due to everything that happened. So at that point I was sitting at home playing Fallout 4, Madden 16, and watching porn; drinking whiskey, and sleeping until noon just to go to bed at three in the morning.

One night I was sitting at my computer, doing something…I can’t remember and my phone made a sound, a sound that I later changed. If you know of Dr.Dre you might know what I’m talking about. I hear “Deeeze Nuuuuts” from my phone and I picked up my phone to read a text message that said, “Your mom told me about your accident, I’m sorry but I’m glad you’re safe.”

I have an aunt who lives in Nebraska. My dad has two brothers and five sisters, many of those kids have kids, and my mom has two sisters which gives me some family on that side too. Not as much as my dad however, I have a large family; most of whom live in Nebraska or Missouri. I also have some family in New Jersey that I only know from Facebook. My mom, dad, sister, and son are the only family members I have on the west coast.

My mom has a sister, she was the one who sent me a text message and as the conversation continues I come to find out that she, her husband, and two kids are going to Washington State to see my parents.

“Do you want to go with?” At first I didn’t think I would be able to. My fiance is in Seaside, Oregon and I got pets to take care of. After a conversation on the phone with Shannon who said, “No babe, you can go, it will be good for you, I can figure out a way to get the pets taken care of for two more days until I get home.”

I spend the next few days doing stuff that I was holding off until the day before she came home. Taking the rental car back was the very last thing I did before they picked me up a few days later headed on a 1,600 mile drive that took 24 hours to complete.

24 hours later I’m sitting at my parents house eating dinner and drinking a beer while looking like I was so stoned that my eyes were half shut. Sleeping in a 2013 Dodge Durango is not easy, and there were six people in it plus so many bags including a wheelchair. The car was packed and any sleep that I was able to get was a short little cat nap here and there, so I more or less have been awake for 21 hours by the time I’m eating dinner in Washington.

My son moved back to Washington due to his step-father getting a job offer in Seattle. They might have been some other reasons that I don’t know about, but regardless I was able to see him the next day. Last time I saw my kid was in 2011, and that was just because Heather was in town.


I’m glad my aunt and others were with us. My son is too old to play Mega Blocks now. I didn’t want to bore him. He didn’t pack his Xbox One, like what are we supposed to do? I haven’t seen my kid in five years, I didn’t want him to be bored out of his mind.

Lucky for me my aunt including the others who have never been to Washington State decided to take a 44 mile car ride to the south to visit Mt. Rainier National Park. Every time I have been to the mountain, and this must have been my tenth time, I have never seen it that busy.

As I come to find out, Heather never took our son to Mt. Rainier. One of, if not thee most important landmark in Washington State. So I’m hoping that is a lasting memory for him. I hope he grows up one day to say, “Yea bitch, my dad took me to Mt. Rainier.”

So that was fun, but weird at the same time. I loved seeing my son, and I’m glad I got to, but seeing him go from seven to twelve in no time was a shock. It was awesome to see how educated he became, he even has a larger vocabulary than I would assume.

The next day me and my dad drive him back home, he lives in the same town where he was born, which is going to be easy for me by the time I move to Oregon.

After I get back to my parents house I have a few days to try to fit the most important of my friends into and I call my friend Mandy, who ironically has a lot of family in Nebraska too. “If you want to hang out with me now is a good time to do so,” which is what I said to her after I asked if she was working. Her and her boyfriend came to pick me up and after a few hours of hanging out at their house her boyfriend, Patrick, drove me to my friend Jay’s.

It was July fourth and Jay was having his annual block party, which was by far one of the best things I was surrounded by while sitting in my wheelchair eating a hamburger and drinking beer while I stare at houses surrounding a cul-de-sac as fireworks explode in the air and a line of evergreen tress on each side of the road stretch as far as the eye could see.

Jay is 46 years old and has a wife with three kids, I met Jay though my friend Eric (who I also hung out with before I left Washington,) they used to work together at the same manufacturing plant that my dad who is the lead engineer works at.

Later into the night as the grill is being put away and all the neighbors are going home another neighbor is just arriving, why? I don’t know. Everything was packed up and other than me sitting in the driveway with his oldest son drinking beer after beer, there was nothing going on.

This lady with blond hair walks up the driveway and waves at me before trying to talk to Tina, Jay’s wife, it would appear as if Tina didn’t want to talk to her…So this turns into her sitting down and talking to me and Jay Jr. and we drink and smoke.

It didn’t take me long to figure out how drunk she was, I mean I was drinking and I might have been buzzed. But in no way was I unable to understand what I was saying. By the third time she asked me, “How old are you?” I was like, “Okay this chick is fucked up.”

And she sang us a country song, which was fucking weird…good song though. As we were talking I was telling her many stories, most of which involve a wheelchair; for obvious reasons, but she kept trying to shake my hand every two minutes because I overcame the difficulties of being in a wheelchair.

She was super drunk, so whatever, generally that would have upset me; but knowing that she had no intention of being mean I just let it go.

Every time I started a new story it always was preceded with, “Wait…how old are you?”

Two or four times that night she kissed me on the cheek and at one point she told me how sexy I was.  Afterwards she even said, “You got to find me on Facebook, we need to hang out” to which I said, “I don’t live in this state.”

That didn’t seem to register as she said, “I could hook you up with some hot bitches,” to which I raised my hand showing a ring on my left ring finger as I said, “I’m engaged.”

On a side note, she was married, nothing was going to happen and we both knew it.

As the conversation goes on I come to find out that she is 14 years older than me, but still very attractive. She kept telling me that she used to be a cheerleader.

Being as drunk as she was and hoping that she would have gave me an honest answer I asked a question that most people would never ask, but I was curious and I was not going to take it any further so I didn’t really care what her answer was.

“If you were single, and I was single, and we met at a bar, would you actually give me the time of the day and take me home afterwards?”

To which she laughed and being in her state of mind totally forgot that I asked a question when she asked me, “Wait…how old are you.”

At that point her husband came out wondering why she didn’t go home yet. And to be honest part of me was worried based on the fact that she was hitting on me and I let it happen, I was not hiding the fact that I was engaged, but it also felt kind of good and was entertaining the whole time.

As much as it might seem like it, I was not trying to take it any further.

After about ten minutes I told her that I was going inside and she should go home.

Jay has three kids: Jay who is 22, John who is 18, and Chris who is 16. John has a friend that lives next to him, his mom was the one who hit on me.

The next day I’m sitting outside as she drives by and waives at me.

But man…she was hot. I love my fiance and would never damage that. I’m just saying…if we were both single I might end up having sex with someone 14 years my senior.

I’ve Been Told

countymap_largeAs some of you might now I lived in Washington State for 15 years, from 1998-2013. There are many reasons why I’m sad that I left the state, one of them being that I helped to legalize the recreational use of marijuana and before the state was legally allowed to sell the product I had to leave to the middle of fucking nowhere.

Okay, so…this is a last minute post that I’m making as I’m listening to the new Dr. Dre album while I’m drinking beer after I ate. I have no idea how this is going to layout, but I do have an idea; so it might be random as hell.

So, speaking of pot lets bring up the difference between western and eastern Washington. Without getting too much into it, Western Washington is where the port is, therefore that is where the most of the states activity happens. The majority of the states population lives on the western side, most of them being from very different races, religions, and lifestyles. All the cities, or a lot of them and right next to one another. You can go 50 miles north on I-5 and feel like you never left a city, when in fact you went thought several cities.

You ever hear that stat that says those who live in a greater population, that population being populated my several different types of people, are generally democratic. That being said the majority of the state is democratic.

Then you drive east and go over the cascade mountain range and enter a different environment. You raise elevation by about 2,000 feet (or 609 meters for those of you that need the different unit). The weather is totally different. See I can fucking go on forever, but I’m not trying to bore you with facts and shit. The cities on eastern Washington are generally smaller and are actually separated by land that has nothing for a good 10 miles or more.

You know what man, I didn’t spend that much time on the eastern side, so if you’re from that side of the state feel free to correct me.

Anyways, being smaller that side of the state is primarily republican.

Now that I said more than I wanted to, there are two cities on both sides of the state, Seattle and Spokane. When marijuana was legalized that state was not allowed to sale the product for X amount of time after because of what the law said. Actually now that I think about it, it was my 29th birthday, late November; we voted to pass that law, but it did not go into effect until the beginning of 2014.

The whole point of me telling you this is to say that the judge is Seattle was releasing people from jail or not arresting anyone else for the simple possession of marijuana; that is if the person was not caught with the intent to distribute and they were carrying or had less than an ounce.

While on the other side of the state the judge in Spokane was still arresting people and clogging up the prison system for something that in all reality didn’t do any harm to anyone.

Blah blah blah…

I love Washington, those were the best 15 years of my life. I stopped getting made fun of, I became more popular that I have even been, some of my best friends; no…no, all of my best friends live there, and I met my future wife there.

I started writing this post, or got the idea of it because I saw a picture of one of my followers, was not really paying attention until I saw the Seattle Spaceneedle in the background. I felt an instant connection to this girl, who was pretty cute to be honest, but I don’t know her. Why do I feel as if you as so much cooler because you’re from Washington State? An asshole can be from Washington State too.

Home is where the heart is. My heart is in Washington State, the Pacific Northwest in general. The two five thizzle to be exact. I was born in Nebraska, and moved back when I was almost 30 years old, I don’t call this my home anymore.

Growing up in Nebraska I was made fun of by 30 people, 30 fucking people, every single day. As a kid I’d fake being sick not to stay home, but so I didn’t have to worry about…assholes who thought being handicapped was funny.

Part of it was the fact that I moved to a new place, a place where no one knew me; but I still thank Jenny Jones. I wrote about this before, if your curious you might not have to search too hard to find it.

One of the reasons why I like high school so much, part of me misses it. All of my friends say, “Oh I hated school,” I get it, but would you rather be waking up earlier than you used to just to go to work and make money that you don’t get to keep anyways? And unless you a really bad kid you couldn’t fired from school.

By the time I got to my senior year in high school I was pretty damn popular, and for a handicapped kid that grew up with bullies that was pretty fucking important.

I have plenty of other things to talk about, but I won’t; not in this post at least.

As pathetic as it might sound, as popular as I was girlfriends did not come by very often. There was a time in my life that was very lonely. I had friends and all, but after leaving for work at five in the morning and not coming home from school until ten at night. I had very little of a social life, and my best friend just moved to Colorado (which was a mistake on his part). When I got home all I did was get online and attempt to talk with a girl.

I was so lonely, depressed, and sexually frustrated that more often than not those few conversations that I got into didn’t end well. At one point I started talking to this girl, just like all the others it did not end well, she just up and stopped talking to me, this was after we went as far as to exchange numbers. I would still send her a text here and there but never got any type of response.

I’ve learned that the more I tried to talk to her, the further away she would go. At some point I gave up, why am I going to waste my time to just make myself cry?

Fast forward to the very beginning of 2011, and I mean as soon as the ball dropped on New Years Eve of 2010; she sent me a text message out of the blue, I was not expecting her to, but I was happy that she did.

She turned out to be a really cool girl who loves me for me, she knows and knew that I was disabled, we shared many similar values, we rarely fight and even when we do she is the one who remains calm. It was like I found the one I never thought I would. Everything that I want in a partner is her.

As I’m typing this, four years later, she is sitting in the family room eating pizza, she just got home from work.

Then I was told I love Washington too much. I have a Seattle Supersonics hat, a Seattle Seahawks jersey, an empty bottle of Men’s Room Original Red as well as an empty bottle of Men’s Room Black, my computer and home has a wallpaper of Thun field in the foreground of Mt. Rainier, my three monitors and work feature Point Defiance, The
Narrow Bridges going over the Puget Sound, and another one looking at a building the faces the water in Tacoma as the sun sets.

I have a t-shirt that says Tacoma, Washington on it, the background of my phone is Mt. Rainier, I was lucky enough to get a member of KISW to send me four Men’s Room drink coasters – one of which is at work – as well as a rubber bracelet for The Migs Cast, a 2015 Washington State calendar hanging in my office at work, both of my old Washington license plates – one in my mancave at home and one in my office at work.

And on a regular basis I still listen to KISW The Rock of Seattle. Which is kinda cool now that the BJ and Migs in the Morning does not start until 8 in the morning CST but on the other hand The Men’s Room does not start until 4 in the afternoon. I used to listen to it everyday at two o’clock, but now I got to wait two more hours.

Anyways I’ve been told I love Washington too much, if you keep telling people Washington is awesome and drop the word Washington into a story you’ll just seem like a douchebag from the Northwest.

I’m sorry to all you Nebraskans that I annoy, but Washington hold a special place in my heart. I understand that you’re coming from an outside perspective and don’t understand, but I love shit like no humidity in the summer, barely any snow in the winter, good friends, evergreen trees, mountains, a green lawn 365 days a year, and the rain is not that bad; people in Nebraska think I’m strange that I get happy when it rains and can go sit in the rain during my break like nothing is the matter.

I love Washington man, and if you’re from Washington I automatically assume we have a connection.

Walking On Air

104_2874Once upon a time, back in the day when I was a young adult, when I was around the age of 25 I did something, something that I was proud of. Something that I thought I would never have done. I’m afraid of confrontation as is so I was rather proud that I was able to muster enough courage to do so.

The idea of this story came to me like a random pink elephant trying to fly in the ocean. My brain runs like a confusing web of intertwining train tracks with a drunken conductor flipping switches at random. Sometimes that train will even derail causing me to forget what I was doing until someone or something reminds me what I was doing prior to that shift in thought.

The year was 2008, three years prior to this my child’s mom broke up with me. We were not meant for each other, we were in a very toxic relationship. We fought every night, over the dumbest shit. For example she would come home from work at nine o’clock and yell at me because I didn’t pick up my son’s toys that where littering the family room. Even though I picked up all of his toys two hours prior. When is the last time you picked up toys and expected your two year old son or daughter not to string all of their toys all over again in the course of the next twenty minutes? The relationship came to a slow but abrupt halt after three years.

It was my fault too, I can’t sit here and act like it was all of her fault. When my son was two and a half we split. That reminds me of another idea that I can try to put into story form, if I remember.

Back to my parents house I went again. Before 2008 I moved in with a friend of mine just to end up getting kicked out of his apartment. Back to my parents I went, again. Between the ages of 19 and 26 I have been in and out my parents house more than I would have liked. One night in some shape or form I met this girl.

I knew Crystal for awhile at this point, I can’t remember how me met, but I’m sure it was because she was hot. She has brown hair with brown eyes, she weighed 130 pounds and stood at five foot one. The fact that she was short was a turn on for me, I don’t really know why, but I dig short women. I loved watching her walk too, being in a wheelchair puts you at the proper height. Her ass looked as if she was wearing jeans that were painted on two bubbles that bounced up and down every time she took another step forward.

We never dated one another but I did end up living with her and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend just happened to be a friend of mine they I knew before they even dated. One morning I woke up in a hurry at six o’clock thinking someone in my apartment was being stabbed to death, I was still in a mild dream state. She was being stabbed to death, and it sounded as if she enjoyed every moment of it; it was then that I found out how load she was during sex.

One day when neither of them were home I found naked pictures of her that she took when she was in the shower. The picture-or maybe even pictures-were stored on the computer that we shared. This picture that I saw didn’t show her bottom half, it wasn’t like I was trying to find them anyways, after I saw the picture of her bare, perky, and voluptuous double D’s I didn’t look to find any more; she was fucking hot as hell, and I would have liked to see more; however I felt bad, like I was invading her privacy or something.

Before Crystal moved into my apartment I lived with another girl, a girl named Heather. We never dated either, never even had sex. The more I learned about her the more of a turn off the idea of sex even was. After breaking up with one Heather and living with another Heather I lived with my mom and dad.

Crystal called me one day, around two o’clock in the afternoon, I thought I still had a chance to get into her pants. Crystal worked at the local motel, downtown by the fairgrounds; she was one of the maids at the shitty motel next to the fairgrounds, right next to the freeway that I took every morning on my way to work. I reached in my pocket to grab my cell phone and flipped it open.

“Hey Dan, what are you up to?”

“Just playing video games.”

“Do you want to come have lunch with me and my friend?” She had a coworker by the name of Heather.

“Yea sure, I didn’t eat yet.” Back in the day I looked like a crack head. I never did crack or any drug besides marijuana, I was 115 pounds and stood at five feet ten. I didn’t have much of an appetite back than, mainly because my mom who is not fat but thinks she is fat; makes the driest, most tasteless food ever. To top it off I was still walking, but only in my house, that used enough energy that my metabolism rate was through the roof; it seemed like I couldn’t put any weight on even if I tried. Sitting in the diner downtown across from the motel was the first time I met Heather.

The whole lunch was spent trying to convince me that I needed to get back out of my parents house, she was also dropping pretty bold hints that she needed to move out the entire time. Now that I look back on it I don’t know where she lived in the first place. I bought into it hook, line, and sinker.

I was in my mid twenties and felt a deep need to move out again, I was also tired of being the disabled son of a disabled mother who was always yelling at me because she seemed to be under a false impression that if I do anything on my own I would die from some type of extremely rare but tragic accident. A few weeks after our lunch I went to the bank.

After taking out a loan that I’m still paying for seven years later, Heather was sitting in the passenger seat of my car as we drove around town looking for an apartment complex that would accept us. During this car ride I came to find out that she had a felony, which lead me to ask, “What for?”

I don’t know which of the two were reveled first but over the course of living with her I came to find out that she was busted for one-or both-of the following: she was addicted to crack cocaine and in order to support her habit she became an escort, or a prostitute as some would say. Because of this she spent some time in prison that was in the same state, as far as I know. This made finding an apartment extremely difficult.

We finally found one that was sketchy as hell. Not because it was in the ghetto, but because it was owned by someone who lived in another state and was poorly managed. The manager was my soon to be next door neighbor.

She was the nicest lady, she must have been around the age of 50 and was very relaxed on what rules had to be followed. Her daughter was never home and may have spent some time in jail too, she was one of those types that liked to delve into the world of drugs, methamphetamine to be more specific. Which I didn’t know until I met her son Ryan, who was also my next door neighbor.

Ryan lived with his grandmother, most likely because his mom was too busy getting her next fix while remaining highly irresponsible. Ryan was quick to become my next friend, he would often come over to hang out when he wasn’t cleaning up one of the empty units after it had been vacated by the previous resident. Years later I found out something that actually made me feel bad for the kid.

After moving out and being gone for a year or so I went to go visit my friend Marcus. Ryan no longer lived there, but an old friend of his told me that Ryan had a kid now and was going down the same path that his mom did, but instead of meth it was heroin; I felt bad for him, I was sad that happened to him. He was doing so well for the year or two that I knew him. Marcus now lived in the apartment that I used to. I moved out because he had a new girlfriend, which is an interesting story by itself.

The apartment complex that Heather and I lived in was pretty old, it has had some shotty repairs to it over the years. As some of you might know I currently have a job as a CAD technician, or a glorified entry level engineer. My job focuses on the mechanical aspect of engineering, but the thing that lead me to where I am now was architectural design; because of this I knew the basics of architectural codes, such as interior and exterior door size, interior and exterior wall thickness, and some other stuff here and there.

Due to the size of our kitchen being almost the same size as the family room and an outdoor patio that looked as if it were made out of stone marble running about ten feet out of the back door and spanning thirty feet wide, I was able to make the assumption that our apartment complex-that only consisted of 16 units-must have been built in the late 50’s to early 60’s.

When we moved into our new apartment I was the only one who had a regular source of income. Heather did not have a job and from day one I have been telling her that she needed to find one.

She surprised the hell out of me one day, about a week or two after moving in she found a job. Because of this I figured the next logical thing to do was to get her a cell phone, so I could keep in contact with the person that was living in the same house as me.

I don’t necessarily regret it, but it was not the smartest decision that I have ever made.

A few weeks after having a job working at the local gas station she came home early just to give me the bed news, she told me that she was fired for selling alcohol to a minor. Now that I think about it I’m not sure that she had a job in the first place.

May I mention that her boyfriend who was twenty years older than her lived in the apartment above us, he didn’t move in until we have lived there for awhile. I don’t care how old he is, if she is over 18, and they are both happy, more power to them. He had a excellent job that paid him a good amount of money, he more or less ended up paying me for her part of the rent, utilities, and cell phone. She had a free ride, all she was doing was staying home living for free with a guy that couldn’t afford to live by himself even if I tried to. This just drove us apart.

Not having a job just drove a deeper wedge in between the both of us. I’d get home from work around five o’clock in the evening just to find her laying on the couch watching TV, doing nothing with her day. All I did when I came home was to get on the computer or play video games, we didn’t even talk. A few weeks later she came up to me while I was doing something on the computer to give me some good news, she told me that she was moving out; which was good, I didn’t have to be the asshole in this situation. Even though she moved out doesn’t mean she left, she just became my next door neighbor by moving upstairs.

While all of this was going on in my life on one side of town, Crystal had her own misfortunes on the other side of town.

At this time Crystal was dating one of my friends named Marcus, as far as I remember Marcus was even living there with her and her two year old son. Events that I cannot remember caused her to lose her apartment. I just so happened to be looking for a new roommate at that same time.

Over the course of a few months a single guy living with one girl has been transformed into a single guy who was now living with his friend, his other friend who just happened to be dating his other friend, and her kid. Another minor problem stacked onto other problems arose.

She didn’t have a phone either, but I did; it just happened to be in the apartment above me. I had one of those phones where you could remove the SIM card from one phone and put it into another if you decided to do so. I also had another friend by the name of Dmitry who had a phone that he was not using anymore. Dmitry gave me old phone for free, a fat but small flip phone that was colored tan and brown.

At this point I had a roommate that didn’t have a phone, a phone that was in the possession of someone else, and another phone that didn’t have the ability to make any sort of calls. I only had one thing left to do.

I walked out of my front door and turned to my right. After walking to the end of that units opening I turned around just to face a set of stairs that lead to the second floor. Up the stairs I walked, this whole time having conflicting thoughts that were having a fight inside my head.

Part of me was saying, “Fuck this man, this is your phone, it has your name on it,” the other part of me was arguing with itself, “What if she tries to yell at you and tell you it is her phone, don’t do this, you don’t want to confront her.”

I’ve heard that I have two levels of knocking on a door, so quiet that I stand in front of their door for half an hour and look stupid while they sit on their couch watching TV or so loud that people run and hide because they think there is a police officer at their door. I ended up scaring the shit out her after knocking on her door. She slowly opened the door.


“Give me my phone.”


“It’s not your phone.”

“Yes it is.”

“So why does it say my name on the bill? That bill even says I own both lines.”

“I pay for it though.”

“No you don’t, Troy does; and it’s not his phone either”

“I have important stuff on this phone, I took some pictures I want to keep or have people’s phone numbers.”

“Are they stored on the phone?”


“Okay fine keep the fucking phone, just give me the SIM card.”

All I needed was the SIM card, the SIM card was what connected my phone number to the phone that was being used. Her giving me the SIM card did not give me my physical phone, but I really wasn’t worried the phone; I was worried about my phone number being out there in someone else’s hands who could charge me a shit ton of money-that I had to pay for-or screw up my credit.

I walked down those stairs feeling like I was floating on air. I couldn’t believe how easy that was.

I walked into my apartment and saw Crystal standing in the kitchen while Marcus was sitting on the couch playing a video game and her kid was hanging out in his play pin. I looked at her with a big smile on my face and said, “Open your hand.”

I put a small chip in her hand and said, “All you got to do is put that in Dmitry’s old phone, and there you go, you’ll have a phone.”

I did have more trust in Crystal than I did Heather anyways.

I can’t believe I did that. To this day that story still makes me proud of myself every time I think about it.

A few months after that Heather came to my front door claiming that I owed her four hundred dollars when in fact she was the one that owed my four hundred dollars. After she left I went one door over and explained to my manager everything that has happened-the manager didn’t like her anyways, and I was her grandsons best friend-she was quick to side with me.

A few days after that Heather came back over trying to get free money so I just said, “Let’s go talk to the manager about that, if I owe you rent, I want to hear it from her.” I think you can figure out what happened there, Heather was not too happy.

If you care to read another story about Heather and what happened to her after I moved out feel free to read ‘The Conversation.’

I Can’t….What?

EpilepsyDrivingNYC_night_high_speed_car_driving-hdOf all the things that people have said to me I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Who does that? Who is that ignorant? I mean, come on man, you can’t be that unaware of life and people.

When I moved to Washington State in 1998 the first friend I had was this guy by the name of Daniel. He just happened to live across the street from this other kid named Eric.

One night Dan had me over to stay the night and do shit that young kids do. I was a freshman in junior high. Our goal of the night was to see how long we could stay up, I only made it 26 hours before I went home. We listened to music and played Diablo-the first one-on his laptop.

That night Dan called his friend across the street, who I didn’t know at the time, and said, “hey, do you want to come stay the night at my house, I got a friend over.” Eric said something on the phone but I didn’t know what it was and the next thing I heard was, “You know the handicapped guy?” He paused for a second and continued with, “You know that new girl from Nebraska?” Another pause, “Yes, the one that you think is hot.” Yet again another short pause, “It’s her brother.”

17 years later Eric is by far one of my best friends, so much so that he is the number one contender to be the best man at my wedding. Granted we became friends because he thought my sister was hot, but I tend to have that effect on people; once they get to know me as a person they tend to fall in love with me. We have been though some great times, and even some bad ones too, but we have always been there for one another when we needed a friend to talk to. Although I would never be his roommate, that always ruins a friendship.

Eric has this friend named Jon, Jon is now a friend of mine too, we call him Jon Boy. Jon is a white guy with brown eyes, black hair, pretty tall, and in decent physical shape with a tattoo covering his right arm running all around, reaching from his wrist to the very top of his shoulder. Most girls-maybe some guys too-would definitely agree that he is by far the most attractive friend that I have. To be honest I’m kind jealous of him, all of his girlfriends are super hot, the type of girls that are way out of my league.

One day I was sitting at home on the weekend and I was pretty bored so I did the only thing I could think to do at the moment, I called Jon Boy to see what he was up to.

“Hey man, what you doing?” I was listening intently, hoping to hear that he was bored too, “Yea man, I mean Mike is here and all but you can totally stop by if you want to.” That is exactly what I did, I got in my red Volvo 850R that I sadly beat the shit out of, it had an upside down right headlight on the left side of the car with a grey hood that came from a different front end that my dad got at the local junk yard.

One day this guy turned left too late and smacked right into me totaling my sweet ride that had 240 horsepower, for a 5 cylinder engine with a turbo. When I first got the car it was painted a candy red with every window-other than the windshield-tinted, six spoke 18 inch rims panted a gun-metal black with a glossy chrome wrapping all around the exterior of the rims. It was a nice car, a rare care, that I wish I still had.

I pulled into his driveway 15 minutes later and sent him a text message, “Hey, can you open the garage door?” At this age, which really does not seem like that long ago, I would have to guess 2009 or 2010. I was able to walk, but was at the point that I had to notice my surroundings to understand if I could even get from point A to point B. It was like I noticed stuff that most people don’t even think about.

I’d be thinking to myself, “Okay, there is a trashcan there, I can lean onto that, and there is a wall there that I can get to because of the trashcan, and the door is there, I can walk along the wall to get to the door.” Of course I had to walk along my car just to get to the trashcan. Then when I got into the house, which I was already familiar with, I had to plan out a new strategy. I eventually got to the point that I felt comfortable enough around friends to just say, “Fuck this guys, you know me, I’m cool as fuck, I’m crawling around your house.”

A 27 year old-I think I was that old-crawling around the house. I don’t blame people for thinking that it was weird, because it was; but I had a very valid excuse, and it wasn’t because I was drunk either.

To put a better time stamp on this story, Modern Warfare 2 came out, but it was about another year or two before Modern Warfare 3 was released. And that’s exactly what Jon and Mike were doing, sitting down playing Modern Warfare 2 online, split screen style. They were the type of guys that would play the game for countless hours without ever playing the single player campaign.

I was watching them play and both of them were kicking ass, doing multiple shit, things that I would never think about doing. The end of the match came and their stats popped up on the screen. Mike, who was slightly better than Jon, had 18 kills and 2 deaths over the course of 5 minutes, or whatever it was.

Jon saw me looking at the 52 inch HDTV and said, “Hey man, you wanna play?”

“No man, I run around like a chicken with my head cut off, I’m lucky if I get one kill, I’m even luckier if I die less than ten times.”

“That’s why you need to practice man.”

“I get too pissed off and sad at other people before I can even do that.”

At that point the conversation drifted into a past event where Mike was so pissed off, for a really dumb reason too, that he went outside and poured lighter fluid all over his controller before watching it burn in the driveway. Like, what the fuck? Who the fuck does that? But I didn’t have to buy a new controller, so it’s his problem I guess.

Jon lived with his dad at the time, his dad came down the stairs to talk to me. They had one of those split level homes, where when you enter the front door and you could either go up to the first floor or down to the basement. He had to go to work and I was parked behind him. His dad kind of knew who I was although we never really talked before. “Hey Dan, I got to go to work, can you move your car.”

As I grab my keys up off of the floor and start to figure out how I’m going to stand up I said “yeah.”

Mike is…he just doesn’t fucking think about what he says, how it sounds, who he is saying it to, or if it will even offend the person. Out of nowhere, like an uninvited dick pic, Mike says, “They let you people drive.”

I could not think of what to say, I think Jon was waiting to see my reaction as we sat there at stared at each other as if we were simultaneously thinking, “What the fuck?”

After staring at Mike for a while while my mouth was opening but words were not coming out I finally said, “Fuck you too.”

Granted the fact that he was an acquaintance who has known me for a while now, but only in passing or group activities; I was not too offended. He was just stupid, or maybe he had a mental disability that came with a lack of tact and social interactions. Whatever the case I was offended, but not so much that it ruined my day.

I went outside, moved my car, came back, and at some point I left to go back home. I don’t really remember the rest of that day, in fact I could not even begin to tell you about what else happened that day. If I was able to somehow watch that memory like it were a TV show, I could probably remember how I felt in situations that are not even entertaining, but I don’t, so that is the end of that story.

But really man, I think the part that pissed me off the most was, “You people.” I can cut him some more slack if he asked, “You can drive,” or “Disabled people can drive,” or even, “I didn’t know they let handicapped people drive.” But “You people,” come on man.

Why I Like It: Growing Up


Sometimes in life people need to grow up, sometimes that forces us from separating yourself from those that don’t fit anymore.

The original post that I liked is titled A letter for closure to my friend. I liked it for a few reasons: not only did she post something prior to this post that dealt with the same situation, I ended up giving her advice, that she liked more than I was expecting her to. This post is a follow up to that post, this was a very adult thing of her to do and I was able relate to it.

When I read this letter I think of three people, two of them are still friends; one is not. My close friend Eric who I mentioned in a few posts is my best friend and will continue to be for a long time, I hope, I plan on making him the best man at my wedding. My other friend might be my best man too, he has been a friend for a long time, but just happens to be dumber than the other.

The friend that I let go of was not a friend for that long, but I came to the realization that it was just not fun to be around him in a close social setting.

I’ll mention Eric and Dmitry first.

Eric has been a friend for a long time and we have been very close at times and not so close other times. But he remained a friend of mine and I’m glad he is still here. When I had a kid I moved about 10 miles away from him, and he stopped hanging out with me, while I was living in the town over he started dating this girl who got him into cocaine.

I didn’t know this until later, I just thought he was being an asshole; which is true, but he was being an asshole for different reasons. Later in life after they broke up and he started hanging out with me again. But that is not really the point I’m trying to make.

He dated this chick on and off, multiple times. I did the same thing with the mother of my child and overtime came to understand that if it didn’t work the first time it’s very hard to make it work the second time; but it does happen, however if you’re trying the third, forth, or fifth time it’s just a waste of your time; it’s a waste of their time too.

I go over to Eric’s house one day and he told me something that I was not expecting to hear, I was even dumbfounded when he told me. This girl he dated on and off moved from Washington State to Colorado, she got a good job there as a software engineer. He mentioned that he was talking to Christie again, but I just blew it off thinking that it wouldn’t last long.

Sitting on his bed he looked at me and said, “Dan, I’m moving to Colorado.” He even asked for my blessing to do so.

I gave it to him even though I knew he was moving 1,400 miles away for heartbreak. But he is stubborn, he had to learn; if I told him what I was really thinking he wouldn’t listen to me anyways, he’d try to tell me I was wrong. So I let him go, I had to let him learn.

And yes they broke up about two years before he moved back to Washington State, and by that time I was gone in Nebraska, so we don’t get to see each other everyday, or even every year. But we still keep in touch and I will end up being closer to him when I move to Oregon.

Dmitry…Dmitry was another friend who had to learn, the problem with him is if he crashes into a brick wall he will get out of the car and keep running into the same wall asking himself why the wall isn’t moving.

If you care you can read more about this interaction a previous post I made called The Conversationis here, there you go…but just to summarize it for you…

He ended up dating this chick that was nothing but trouble. I even told him how fucking stupid he was being. He didn’t believe me, and once again I had to let him run into the brick wall. We didn’t hang out at all while this was going on, but he called me afterwards to say, “you we’re right, I should have listened to you.”

Now..onto Josh, the friend that I let go of.

You ever seen those anti-marijuana ads that try to scare you into believing that most people who smoke pot will force you to smoke pot? Well he was that guy. He never forced me to smoke pot, he was not even the one that got me into it; but he did have a habit of pushing people to the level of uncomfortablity.

And every time he told a story about a party it ended with, “and the cops came.” I didn’t need that.

I was still “learning” how to smoke pot, I had many times where I smoked way too much, granted I didn’t die and I will never overdose no matter how much I smoke, but green sickness still sucks.

If you have ever smoked too much and laid on the floor in the fetal position, too scared to stand up because you thought cops were staring at you in your window then you know what I’m talking about.

I eventually found my happy medium and when friends said, “hey, you want to go smoke with Josh?” I was the first one to say no. “I want to have fun, I want to enjoy my high and relax with good friends; I don’t want to think a robot from Terminator 2 is going to shoot me because Josh would not shut up unless I smoked more than I wanted to.”

Josh went down a bad road after that, he was that kid just didn’t know when to stop.

My point is, sometimes you can’t enjoy life if you don’t cut out the thing that is holding you back.

Two of the three are still my friends, but for good reason. The other one is not, and I’m glad he isn’t anymore.

That is a very hard lesson to learn, I may not even fully understand it, but I know most of it. It was a very adult thing that she had to do and I applaud her for it.