Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Another reason why it's great to be a chick
UFC
Last night, I finally managed to pull the remote control from Nina and decided that I'd seen just about enough forensic awfulness for one lifetime. I started scrolling through the channels and stopped on Spike where they were showing the best UFC fights from 2005. I don't usually care much for that sort of thing, but it was action, skill, and brutality, and it didn't involve anyone in a lab coat pointing out the interesting way the victim's liver splatter pattern gave hints as to the perp.
Nina complained for just a moment about the brutal nature of what we were watching. But then she did what any woman does in this situation; she started picking favorites based solely on looks. And that can't be easy, because these guys is some to' up lookin muthafuckas.
After about thirty minutes, Nina started grabbing on me and lightly slapping me. She was playing around and starting to get into the fights. Then she up and climbs on top of me and tried to get me into one of those submission holds. Not knowing that simply grabbing my thigh will not render me helpless, I put her in an ankle bar and won. Still she kept coming at me and pounding on me. It didn't hurt and it's cute to see a girl try to man up like that.
And that's when it occurred to me. This is definitely a right that women have that men do not. I get riled up watching this stuff too. But it's never going to pop in my brain "Hmmm... I'd like to imitate these warriors. Maybe I'll just pound the fuck out of my wife. That's fair." But girls can. Surely, she wasn't laying into me full force, and I think she knew that at any time I could have grabbed her wrist and made her slap her own face a few dozen times. But how nice for girls that if they choose to they can just start taking out aggression on us without any real concern for the consequences.
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Last night, I finally managed to pull the remote control from Nina and decided that I'd seen just about enough forensic awfulness for one lifetime. I started scrolling through the channels and stopped on Spike where they were showing the best UFC fights from 2005. I don't usually care much for that sort of thing, but it was action, skill, and brutality, and it didn't involve anyone in a lab coat pointing out the interesting way the victim's liver splatter pattern gave hints as to the perp.
Nina complained for just a moment about the brutal nature of what we were watching. But then she did what any woman does in this situation; she started picking favorites based solely on looks. And that can't be easy, because these guys is some to' up lookin muthafuckas.
After about thirty minutes, Nina started grabbing on me and lightly slapping me. She was playing around and starting to get into the fights. Then she up and climbs on top of me and tried to get me into one of those submission holds. Not knowing that simply grabbing my thigh will not render me helpless, I put her in an ankle bar and won. Still she kept coming at me and pounding on me. It didn't hurt and it's cute to see a girl try to man up like that.
And that's when it occurred to me. This is definitely a right that women have that men do not. I get riled up watching this stuff too. But it's never going to pop in my brain "Hmmm... I'd like to imitate these warriors. Maybe I'll just pound the fuck out of my wife. That's fair." But girls can. Surely, she wasn't laying into me full force, and I think she knew that at any time I could have grabbed her wrist and made her slap her own face a few dozen times. But how nice for girls that if they choose to they can just start taking out aggression on us without any real concern for the consequences.
Another home improvement
While not the most exciting sort of thing to read I'm sure, I wanted to take a minute to brag all over my new concrete. Nina and I have taken about two years to finally get some action done with regards to our back yard landscaping. It's a big yard and we didn't want to just load it up with rocks and call it desert landscaped. So we hired our neighbor, a reputable handyman, to do the work for us. I'd rather pay him the cash than some landscaping company that picks up a truckfull of Mexican dayworkers at twenty bucks each.
So we got the planters installed for Nina. I'm putting in a striking post. We've got our sprinkler system laid, and the grass, plants and curbing picked out. All that was left was to lay down several tons of concrete. We needed a large pad at the back gate to set our trash can on, a pathway leading from the pad to the driveway, and we just HAD to add in a half-circle extension to our back porch.
Bryan, our landscaper, came back with a quote on the concrete work. It was way more than we wanted to spend. Ordinarily he wouldn't do this, but since we're good neighbors (sucker) he offered to do it himself if I'd do it with him 50/50. Not one to pass up learning a trade, I jumped at it. So this past week I went to home depot and bought a cement mixer (which I'll be returning), flex boards, nails,and a total of 121 eighty-pound bags of concrete mix. Actually it was 115 bags, but I had to send Nina back on Sunday to buy the last six we needed.
You know, apart from the back breaking labor involved, concrete work isn't all that complicated. The process is very simple:
It was a two day job, and now two days later, I'm still hurting. This is an entirely different kind of work from what I'm used to. But I learned a lot, and now I have all my concrete laid at the cost of the supplies. It looks really good too. Only a very few imperfections, and none of those major. I just got done hosing down the work this morning, and the concrete started fizz and bubble with this Rice Krispies sound. I'm told that makes it stronger when you wet it twice daily for a week.
It makes me feel very strong and masculine to do this kind of work. One of the primary reasons is that there seems to be some general consensus that I can't do it. When the Home Depot prick showed up to drop off the mixer and three paletes of concrete mix, I had just finished grading the ground so I was sweaty, dirty, stinking, and fatigued. He looked at me and said "You're not going to make it" straight to my fucking face, right there in front of Bryan. That pudgy 40-year-old $18K motherfucker! Just for that I took it upon myself to make sure that I personally mixed every single bag on those paletes. Huh, how about that, looks like I managed to handle almost ten thousand pounds of concrete. Now KNEEL BEFORE ZOD!!!
Still I'd be lying if I said it didn't take a hefty toll on me. I've been rolling around like a little pussy for two days now. I'm glad I still had that Vicoden from when I twisted my ankle. And the beer. And the wine. And whatever else I found in the back of my medicine cabinet. But hey, at least now I can take my trashcan to the curb without having to drag it through a bunch of fucking rocks.
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So we got the planters installed for Nina. I'm putting in a striking post. We've got our sprinkler system laid, and the grass, plants and curbing picked out. All that was left was to lay down several tons of concrete. We needed a large pad at the back gate to set our trash can on, a pathway leading from the pad to the driveway, and we just HAD to add in a half-circle extension to our back porch.
Bryan, our landscaper, came back with a quote on the concrete work. It was way more than we wanted to spend. Ordinarily he wouldn't do this, but since we're good neighbors (sucker) he offered to do it himself if I'd do it with him 50/50. Not one to pass up learning a trade, I jumped at it. So this past week I went to home depot and bought a cement mixer (which I'll be returning), flex boards, nails,and a total of 121 eighty-pound bags of concrete mix. Actually it was 115 bags, but I had to send Nina back on Sunday to buy the last six we needed.
You know, apart from the back breaking labor involved, concrete work isn't all that complicated. The process is very simple:
- Clear the area of debris
- Level the dirt
- Lay down 2x4 boards as an outline
- Drive stakes into the ground outside the boards
- Nail the stakes to the boards
- Mix the concrete and pour it in the work area
- Shovel the concrete mix where needed
- Trowel to a level surface
- Use line and edge trowels to add... lines and edges
- Let set for 24 hours
- Spray with water twice daily for a week
- Marvel at your ingenuity
It was a two day job, and now two days later, I'm still hurting. This is an entirely different kind of work from what I'm used to. But I learned a lot, and now I have all my concrete laid at the cost of the supplies. It looks really good too. Only a very few imperfections, and none of those major. I just got done hosing down the work this morning, and the concrete started fizz and bubble with this Rice Krispies sound. I'm told that makes it stronger when you wet it twice daily for a week.
It makes me feel very strong and masculine to do this kind of work. One of the primary reasons is that there seems to be some general consensus that I can't do it. When the Home Depot prick showed up to drop off the mixer and three paletes of concrete mix, I had just finished grading the ground so I was sweaty, dirty, stinking, and fatigued. He looked at me and said "You're not going to make it" straight to my fucking face, right there in front of Bryan. That pudgy 40-year-old $18K motherfucker! Just for that I took it upon myself to make sure that I personally mixed every single bag on those paletes. Huh, how about that, looks like I managed to handle almost ten thousand pounds of concrete. Now KNEEL BEFORE ZOD!!!
Still I'd be lying if I said it didn't take a hefty toll on me. I've been rolling around like a little pussy for two days now. I'm glad I still had that Vicoden from when I twisted my ankle. And the beer. And the wine. And whatever else I found in the back of my medicine cabinet. But hey, at least now I can take my trashcan to the curb without having to drag it through a bunch of fucking rocks.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Superstition Adventure
This past weekend my father came into town and we embarked on an overnight hike up, across, and down Superstition Mountain, the most daunting peak in the valley. I knew when my dad asked me to do this with him that I was going to have to be in peak condition. It was this impending challenge that persuaded me to go for that extra run up Pass Mountain and do that last set of weights. By the time dad arrived in town I had gone from the thinned down 190 pound version of myself to just over 200 pounds. I knew I would need the extra muscle to negotiate some of the climbing and scrambling I was about to face.
My father arrived in town just as expected. Thin and shaggy, a walking testament to the fact that he can't stand that he is in his late fifties. His hair, nearly shoulder length and highlighted blonde, only added to the look of a man still in the throws of a twenty-year mid life crisis. Still, it's good to see it, so that I can avoid the pitfalls that would let me become him. We rented our gear from REI, and then had beers and dinner at our favorite German bar. Half drunk and tired, we headed home to prep for the next morning.
Dad was the first one up as expected. He is still on Louisville time. We packed up our large rucks with the tent, sleeping bags, air mattresses, food, water, wine, toiletries, butane cooker, and other assorted things. Each pack weighed about fifty pounds. We left home around 9:00 AM and arrived at the Siphon Draw trailhead a little past ten. We had parked my car at the bottom of the Carney Springs trailhead over 25 miles away. Our route would take us up the Siphon Draw trailhead with a 4,000 foot climb, some of it overhand, most of it scrambling. The Ridgeline trail was meant to last about four to six hours depending on our pace. Mine was good for four. But my father hikes like old people fuck, so it took the full six. Once we made it to the end of the ridgeline, we would hike down the Carney Springs trail, a rocky, steep trail that was mostly bushwacking and certainly full of opportunities to hurt yourself. The total hike was about eighteen miles.
The trail starts out very simple and flat. You'd almost wonder why they'd put the trailhead so far away from the mountain. But it was a good warmup and it gave me time to adjust to having the heavy pack on my shoulders. Almost instantly I went past my dad and lost sight of him. After about two miles the hike starts to get more steep and rocky. This was the warmup for my quads. And no small about of thanks is due to Kevin, my kung fu instructor, for all those hours in horse stance that strengthened my legs. After another mile or so I approached the Siphon Draw, a steep, slick section of rock made smooth by years of water washes and foot traffic. It made for a lot of heaving and sweating, but the view from the top was the first opportunity to see the Phoenix valley. Plus it was a good resting point before the two-hour scramble that was about to happen up the steep mountain face.
My father finally caught up to me at the top of the draw, giving me ample time to rest up. After another ten minutes I put my pack back on and began the long ascent alone. About halfway up I had to stop from sheer exhaustion. I was used to climbing Pass Mountain and I love desert trails. But this was easily the most rugged climb I had taken on. I have written earlier about climbing Camelback Mountain. This was like climbing Camelback four times. At one point I had to stop and take a breath, but I had to keep my hands on the mountain just to stay balanced. The good news was that there were no false summits. Nothing can dishearten like busting your ass to get to the top only to find, once you arrive, that you aren't at the top. The last bit before the summit was the most difficult, requiring actual rock climbing. I held onto a tree root sticking out, got a high toe hold and lifted myself and the pack up so that I could see over the rock. Another moment of climbing and I was welcomed by the Hoodoos, the Flat Iron, and a view of the valley from what seemed to be the top of the world. I dropped my pack and waited for dad to arrive, which he did nearly an hour later.
Once my dad finally made it to the summit, we ate a couple sandwiches and began what we thought would be an easy and scenic hike across the long ridge of the mountain. What we got was very different. When they decided to call the trail Ridgeline, they weren't kidding. The trail ran up and down each and every peak along the summit, no matter how steep or rocky. It was definitely an education. We had no idea how far we should go, but we knew the sun would be setting in about three hours so we walked until about four and decided that we had no choice but to set up camp on a windy ridge between two peaks. It was going to be a very cold night.
We set up our camp and broke out the food and wine. As the sun began to set we got the most gorgeous views of the Tonto National Forest. On one side you had Phoenix, huge and sprawling across the entire expanse of the valley. As the sky darkened, the lights of the city came on and flickered in a panoramic scene that one usually only gets to see out the window of an airplane on approach. On the other side you had the Tonto National Forest as far as the eye could see, and I can't tell just how far that was. But at over 6,000 feet I'm betting it was at least a forty mile view.
If you click on the above pic you can get a sense for the kinds of peaks I'm talking about. This one was smaller than most. But if you zoom in, you can see my father near the center making his way down. We must have crossed a dozen of these, and like I said, this was one of the more negotiable.
We got into our sleeping bags early that evening and listened to the wind pounding against the tent. We'd ensured it would stay in place by tying large rocks to the tent at several places. It was comforting, like listening to a downpour from the safety of your bedroom, dry and warm. I woke up several times that night. The altitude had some strange effects on my dreams I think. We got up just before dawn and began to break camp. It had occurred to me that night that in our hurry to get on the trails, I had accidentally placed my car keys in dad's rental car. So we were on our way across the mountain to a car that we had no access to. I would have to call Nina in to come get us. I didn't want to have to involve her, but we had no choice.
We continued along the ridge in disbelief of the unnecessary routes up each and every peak across the ridge. We could much more easily have hiked around the side of these peaks. But the cairns led us up and down, and up and down. It was a good thing that all those cairns were there though. We could have easily lost our way. The ridge is much wider than we had expected in some places. Zig-zagging around the ridge would have added hours to our trip, and we had just realized that we were about two to four liters short of water. The trip down was going to be hot, dry, and miserable.
By the time we reached Carney Springs we were tired and beginning to dehydrate. We rationed out our water and began the long, cactus covered descent. We thought the first part was bad. But then we came to the edge of Superstition from the Carney Springs trail, and were met by a steep, rocky, uneven descent that reminded me of the "stairs" that Gollum led Frodo and Sam up in Lord of the Rings. We just looked at each other and said "fuck it, let's get this over with". This trail just plain sucked from top to bottom. Cactus everywhere, rocky drops, uneven trails, sparse cairns, and full exposure to the elements. It took us nearly two hours to reach the bottom. By then we were both so ragged and dehydrated we could barely walk.
Nina had been waiting for us for a little while at the parking site as we had miscalculated the amount of time it would take us to reach her. But she tried to be pleasant and had brought us loads of fluids and some Lunchables. We stowed our gear and dropped dad off at his car. He should have volunteered to drive me back to my car, but dad becomes like some four year old after these things. He expects everyone to bend over backwards to his every whim and refuses to do anything for anyone. Factor in the way he treats our house like a hotel where Nina and I are merely staff, and you've got one angry Nina. I find it very rude, but at this point, I just can't waste my energy getting shitty. All I can do is try not to be like him.
Nina dropped me off at my car and I drove home. I immediately dropped my clothes and stepped my filthy, sore, stinking body into a hot bath, which was both refreshing and exhausting. The rest of the evening is a blur since I was so tired and recovering from the dehydration. But today, I'm feeling okay. I'm still sore all over, but that's to be expected. I'm young and I'll heal quickly. Dad had a much more difficult time than he'd ever admit and I know that he'll be hurting for weeks. He invited me out to climb Mount Shasta in June. I think I'll pass. I love trailrunning and biking. I want to get to the top of popular peaks as fast as I can to reap the physical rewards. I don't care much for mountain climbing. Dad's just going to have to deal.
All in all I'd say that the trek was a good one. I'm proud of myself for being able to handle the physical rigors, which were far greater than anything I've ever done. The dehydration made things miserable, and the Carney Springs trail will never see me again. But the Siphon Draw is a great and memorable hike, as is the Ridgeline. Unfortunately, the only way to hike the ridgeline is to climb the mountain on one side and then go down the other. The Peralta trail is a more favorable trail to take down, about one mile past the Carney Springs. I'll try that someday. But this was likely the only time I'll ever climb Superstition. Still, I stare at that mountain every day on my way to work. And now I can look at it and know that even the highest, steepest and most treacherous trail in the area, maybe the state, was not above my abilities. It's inspriting and humbling at the same time.
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My father arrived in town just as expected. Thin and shaggy, a walking testament to the fact that he can't stand that he is in his late fifties. His hair, nearly shoulder length and highlighted blonde, only added to the look of a man still in the throws of a twenty-year mid life crisis. Still, it's good to see it, so that I can avoid the pitfalls that would let me become him. We rented our gear from REI, and then had beers and dinner at our favorite German bar. Half drunk and tired, we headed home to prep for the next morning.
Dad was the first one up as expected. He is still on Louisville time. We packed up our large rucks with the tent, sleeping bags, air mattresses, food, water, wine, toiletries, butane cooker, and other assorted things. Each pack weighed about fifty pounds. We left home around 9:00 AM and arrived at the Siphon Draw trailhead a little past ten. We had parked my car at the bottom of the Carney Springs trailhead over 25 miles away. Our route would take us up the Siphon Draw trailhead with a 4,000 foot climb, some of it overhand, most of it scrambling. The Ridgeline trail was meant to last about four to six hours depending on our pace. Mine was good for four. But my father hikes like old people fuck, so it took the full six. Once we made it to the end of the ridgeline, we would hike down the Carney Springs trail, a rocky, steep trail that was mostly bushwacking and certainly full of opportunities to hurt yourself. The total hike was about eighteen miles.
The trail starts out very simple and flat. You'd almost wonder why they'd put the trailhead so far away from the mountain. But it was a good warmup and it gave me time to adjust to having the heavy pack on my shoulders. Almost instantly I went past my dad and lost sight of him. After about two miles the hike starts to get more steep and rocky. This was the warmup for my quads. And no small about of thanks is due to Kevin, my kung fu instructor, for all those hours in horse stance that strengthened my legs. After another mile or so I approached the Siphon Draw, a steep, slick section of rock made smooth by years of water washes and foot traffic. It made for a lot of heaving and sweating, but the view from the top was the first opportunity to see the Phoenix valley. Plus it was a good resting point before the two-hour scramble that was about to happen up the steep mountain face.
My father finally caught up to me at the top of the draw, giving me ample time to rest up. After another ten minutes I put my pack back on and began the long ascent alone. About halfway up I had to stop from sheer exhaustion. I was used to climbing Pass Mountain and I love desert trails. But this was easily the most rugged climb I had taken on. I have written earlier about climbing Camelback Mountain. This was like climbing Camelback four times. At one point I had to stop and take a breath, but I had to keep my hands on the mountain just to stay balanced. The good news was that there were no false summits. Nothing can dishearten like busting your ass to get to the top only to find, once you arrive, that you aren't at the top. The last bit before the summit was the most difficult, requiring actual rock climbing. I held onto a tree root sticking out, got a high toe hold and lifted myself and the pack up so that I could see over the rock. Another moment of climbing and I was welcomed by the Hoodoos, the Flat Iron, and a view of the valley from what seemed to be the top of the world. I dropped my pack and waited for dad to arrive, which he did nearly an hour later.
Once my dad finally made it to the summit, we ate a couple sandwiches and began what we thought would be an easy and scenic hike across the long ridge of the mountain. What we got was very different. When they decided to call the trail Ridgeline, they weren't kidding. The trail ran up and down each and every peak along the summit, no matter how steep or rocky. It was definitely an education. We had no idea how far we should go, but we knew the sun would be setting in about three hours so we walked until about four and decided that we had no choice but to set up camp on a windy ridge between two peaks. It was going to be a very cold night.
We set up our camp and broke out the food and wine. As the sun began to set we got the most gorgeous views of the Tonto National Forest. On one side you had Phoenix, huge and sprawling across the entire expanse of the valley. As the sky darkened, the lights of the city came on and flickered in a panoramic scene that one usually only gets to see out the window of an airplane on approach. On the other side you had the Tonto National Forest as far as the eye could see, and I can't tell just how far that was. But at over 6,000 feet I'm betting it was at least a forty mile view.
If you click on the above pic you can get a sense for the kinds of peaks I'm talking about. This one was smaller than most. But if you zoom in, you can see my father near the center making his way down. We must have crossed a dozen of these, and like I said, this was one of the more negotiable.
We got into our sleeping bags early that evening and listened to the wind pounding against the tent. We'd ensured it would stay in place by tying large rocks to the tent at several places. It was comforting, like listening to a downpour from the safety of your bedroom, dry and warm. I woke up several times that night. The altitude had some strange effects on my dreams I think. We got up just before dawn and began to break camp. It had occurred to me that night that in our hurry to get on the trails, I had accidentally placed my car keys in dad's rental car. So we were on our way across the mountain to a car that we had no access to. I would have to call Nina in to come get us. I didn't want to have to involve her, but we had no choice.
We continued along the ridge in disbelief of the unnecessary routes up each and every peak across the ridge. We could much more easily have hiked around the side of these peaks. But the cairns led us up and down, and up and down. It was a good thing that all those cairns were there though. We could have easily lost our way. The ridge is much wider than we had expected in some places. Zig-zagging around the ridge would have added hours to our trip, and we had just realized that we were about two to four liters short of water. The trip down was going to be hot, dry, and miserable.
By the time we reached Carney Springs we were tired and beginning to dehydrate. We rationed out our water and began the long, cactus covered descent. We thought the first part was bad. But then we came to the edge of Superstition from the Carney Springs trail, and were met by a steep, rocky, uneven descent that reminded me of the "stairs" that Gollum led Frodo and Sam up in Lord of the Rings. We just looked at each other and said "fuck it, let's get this over with". This trail just plain sucked from top to bottom. Cactus everywhere, rocky drops, uneven trails, sparse cairns, and full exposure to the elements. It took us nearly two hours to reach the bottom. By then we were both so ragged and dehydrated we could barely walk.
Nina had been waiting for us for a little while at the parking site as we had miscalculated the amount of time it would take us to reach her. But she tried to be pleasant and had brought us loads of fluids and some Lunchables. We stowed our gear and dropped dad off at his car. He should have volunteered to drive me back to my car, but dad becomes like some four year old after these things. He expects everyone to bend over backwards to his every whim and refuses to do anything for anyone. Factor in the way he treats our house like a hotel where Nina and I are merely staff, and you've got one angry Nina. I find it very rude, but at this point, I just can't waste my energy getting shitty. All I can do is try not to be like him.
Nina dropped me off at my car and I drove home. I immediately dropped my clothes and stepped my filthy, sore, stinking body into a hot bath, which was both refreshing and exhausting. The rest of the evening is a blur since I was so tired and recovering from the dehydration. But today, I'm feeling okay. I'm still sore all over, but that's to be expected. I'm young and I'll heal quickly. Dad had a much more difficult time than he'd ever admit and I know that he'll be hurting for weeks. He invited me out to climb Mount Shasta in June. I think I'll pass. I love trailrunning and biking. I want to get to the top of popular peaks as fast as I can to reap the physical rewards. I don't care much for mountain climbing. Dad's just going to have to deal.
All in all I'd say that the trek was a good one. I'm proud of myself for being able to handle the physical rigors, which were far greater than anything I've ever done. The dehydration made things miserable, and the Carney Springs trail will never see me again. But the Siphon Draw is a great and memorable hike, as is the Ridgeline. Unfortunately, the only way to hike the ridgeline is to climb the mountain on one side and then go down the other. The Peralta trail is a more favorable trail to take down, about one mile past the Carney Springs. I'll try that someday. But this was likely the only time I'll ever climb Superstition. Still, I stare at that mountain every day on my way to work. And now I can look at it and know that even the highest, steepest and most treacherous trail in the area, maybe the state, was not above my abilities. It's inspriting and humbling at the same time.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
I've moved
But if you're reading this, then you probably already knew that. About three weeks ago I took a break from work to check my statcounter. As it turns out, I'm not getting the hit traffic I once did, and it seems that the quaint little blogger community I once enjoyed so much is no longer so very interested in the Arizona duo that is the Mike and Nina experience. But more to the point, I noticed that just the day before I had received about thirty hits over the course of about two and a half hours from a computer terminal at my place of employment. I don't know who it was, or how they found it, but they had been on long enough to read through a few month's worth of my material. And they didn't even have the common courtesy to email me or leave me any comments to identify themselves. Chode.
I started sweating bullets. I know that I haven't mentioned my last name, nor have I referenced anything that would make it easy to find me through your normal search engines, unless you were looking for websites about milfs who like to suck off bulldogs. Somehow, I get hits on the most disturbing searches. Anyway, I decided that this blog was too important to me, and that I'd logged too many hours and emotions in its creation to delete it. So I quickly threw in the word "again" into my url, because I'm super original like that. And there you have it. I'm actually pissed that justoffcenter is now available for some other schmuck to take now, but I'll get over it.
So on with life.
I'm feeling somewhat tranquil today. The ten day vacation I had at the end of the year really did help me get in some rest. Our November and December have been crammed with activities nearly every weekend. People visiting, travel, work, etc. It's been enjoyable, but it's nice to be getting back into the grind for a while. This little "someone found my blog" episode got me thinking. A guy could learn a hell of a lot about me by reading my shit. The good and the bad. It's all here. This forum is more of a frozen, concentrated Mike juice than a glimpse into who I really am in everyday life. So who am I? Who's Mike? Well if you stumbled here looking to pry into the enigma of my phyche, I'll save you some trouble and just lay it out for you.
Mike is:
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I started sweating bullets. I know that I haven't mentioned my last name, nor have I referenced anything that would make it easy to find me through your normal search engines, unless you were looking for websites about milfs who like to suck off bulldogs. Somehow, I get hits on the most disturbing searches. Anyway, I decided that this blog was too important to me, and that I'd logged too many hours and emotions in its creation to delete it. So I quickly threw in the word "again" into my url, because I'm super original like that. And there you have it. I'm actually pissed that justoffcenter is now available for some other schmuck to take now, but I'll get over it.
So on with life.
I'm feeling somewhat tranquil today. The ten day vacation I had at the end of the year really did help me get in some rest. Our November and December have been crammed with activities nearly every weekend. People visiting, travel, work, etc. It's been enjoyable, but it's nice to be getting back into the grind for a while. This little "someone found my blog" episode got me thinking. A guy could learn a hell of a lot about me by reading my shit. The good and the bad. It's all here. This forum is more of a frozen, concentrated Mike juice than a glimpse into who I really am in everyday life. So who am I? Who's Mike? Well if you stumbled here looking to pry into the enigma of my phyche, I'll save you some trouble and just lay it out for you.
Mike is:
- 29/white male/living in AZ/married for seven years
- smarter than dumb, but dumber than bright, though I'm told that I have my moments of brilliance. But then not too many people point out when you're having moments of sheer idiocy.
- A walking contradiction - I love working out, but I still smoke the occasional cigarette and drink entire bottles of wine. I try to be confident and sure, but never stop feeling like the shithead little twerp I was a decade ago.
- Not affiliated with any religion or spirituality. I was raised Roman Catholic, dabbled in alternate philosophies and cult theories, and finally settled on believing only in the fact that I am aware of my existence. My physical being is all I can account for. Perhaps I lack a spiritual connection that others have, so I won't damn the faithful. But if you watch me, you will occasionally find me staring at my hands like a crazy person. This is just me pondering that these fingertips are the very extent of my sensory awareness. All else is interpretory.
- In love with his Ipod and may one day stray out of my marital vows if Steve Jobs adds the appropriate accessory to this mp3 wonder.
- Living in the desert and drinks fewer than two glasses of water per day.
- Lustful beyond belief. I have actually done some research just in case I happen to suffer from sexual addition. But in the end, I've never damaged my life with any overt need to serve my peepee. And I do serve it with fidelity and an unbendable sense of duty.
- Liberal. I understand the duality of political theory and national governance. I choose to support the party that would create the world I'd want to live in come the year 3000. That just happens to mean that I side with the left.
- In decent shape, but will not rest until I look hot in a red and blue bodysuit.
- Gruff and, at times, offensive in my dealings with others. I used to be ashamed by this because it's cost me my share of friends. But now that I have little to no time for friends, I say like me or hate me. Just speak your mind and skip the banality. And if you have a problem with me, get in my face and tell me lest you end up falling squarely into the "everybody else" category of people I know.
- Going to die someday, and has no intention of walking into the beyond with my eyes turned back.
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