Time To Take A Look In The Mirror

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It truly is time for the people of the world to look in the mirror and see that there is only one “race” that will ever matter. Every single human being here on planet dirt share one bond that, no matter what, can never be changed, we all belong to the human race. With that statement I could actually close this post and consider it complete. But, I’m not done yet because there are so many boneheads out there that just don’t get it. Why? Is it too simple in the complexity of our society? Have human beings not evolved enough to recognize that it isn’t our color that makes us different, it’s our DNA. Even with that being said, DNA isn’t even enough to separate one person from every other person on the planet. I have read plenty over the years about how “race” divides our societies and just recently I read a very interesting article at “Classic Ruby: Unadulterated” which sparked up a conversation between myself and the author. She has a way of delivering a message that made me sit back and take a moment to give it all some thought.

Before we actually get into my personal thoughts on “race” I want to point out, especially for new readers, that I am color blind in real life. I don’t use the term metaphorically to make a point but to illustrate how there might be a perspective that y’all haven’t thought about before when thinking about the races on our planet. Sure, I see some color, but I don’t see color the same way as others. In reality, it’s not color blindness but more like seeing with a color deficiency. Overall, it is hard for me to explain, but that’s not the point of this post either. I will make it simple, because it is simple, we need to look at the person next to us as a fellow human. One’s color has little to do with who that person really is. We should spend less time worrying about what race someone is and spend more time just being human to one another.

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But its complicated isn’t it. We can’t look at another human being in black and white. Why not? In my opinion, based on my experiences in life, I find it is because we get programmed through our learning early in life to judge another person because of their color. Why? because they are different than what we see in the mirror. How does that end? I have had people tell me I have it easy in life because I’m white and they are handicapped because they are not white. That being bullshit is putting it mildly. We all take a different course in life, we all make different choices, and we all make different decisions. No, we definitely are not all the same but we all definitely bleed the same color, red. Perhaps it is everything we have in common with each other that drives us to notice the obviously distinctive differences. We need the other person to be different because we don’t want them to be like us. All races are no different in the fact that they like to point out and clarify the differences between the races. But then we sub-divide within the race we belong to as well, further dividing us from our neighbor.

So, I’m white. Does that make me wrong? Does it make me less aware of what the difference amongst the races are? I have been told before, in fact today being the latest time that I’m white therefore I can’t possibly understand anything beyond being white. Why not? Here’s my opinion why not. Look around you, listen to some different music, drive into a different neighborhood, talk with some new people, and y’all will see that different races thrive on being different. They say it makes us a stronger race to recognize ourselves. No, it makes you stupid because you choose to continue with false propaganda witch harms the different races. Have a culture, have a way of life, but don’t use those as excuses to not allow everyone else to do the exact things you want to have freedoms to do. So we are different, so the fuck what.

In closing, I would like to mention that I don’t judge you by your race or your skin color. I will judge you by the words you speak and the actions you take. Too damn bad that every single person on this planet can’t do the same. Racism, at least in the United States, is kept alive by the very people who claim it is holding them back. Again, why? I have found that some people need to be mad at something, anything, right or wrong. People prey on “race” because there is money to be made and 9 times out of 10 it is the same race preying on their own, admit it to yourselves, every race does it. Why? I think this might be a good place to sew up this corpse I have been kicking so I can bury it once again. Race, racism, and the people who proliferate it’s existence really piss me off. I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Feel free to comment openly. Maybe this time I will get to read something new.

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The Death Of A Journey’s Ghost

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I’ve wrote my fair share here about how I worshipped at the alter of Crown Royal for many years. However, I have never told the story of the journey I thought I was on, the journey where I was looking for the questions to answers I had, and how my journey came to an absolute sudden stop. Over the past weekend I came across a ghost from my not so distant past. I wasn’t looking for the ghost, but I think I was lead to finding it for a reason. I think my finding the ghost let me reflect about the past and how it led me to be where I am today. Over the years I have given alcoholics a very hard time because I don’t believe being an alcoholic is a disease or a disability because it’s absolutely not, being an alcoholic is a choice because drinking is a choice. Personally, at this point in my life I don’t care if a single person agrees with me or disagrees with me, it’s a choice and that’s a damn fact. Oddly enough, I’m listening to “Whiskey In The Jar” by Metallica as I write about all of this. I can’t help it, I like the song, it drowns out the chatter of the conversation happening in Spanish 10 feet away. I didn’t need to be put in a “mood” because I was already there, already at the point where I had opened the wounds far enough where I was ready to write without any struggles. But I am struggling, I struggle with the feelings and emotions that have come out since opening the coffin of my dead journey. The big question y’all might be having is what journey died and how did it die. First of all, the short answer is I didn’t like where my life was going so I killed it dead, then I stomped a mudhole into it, then I kicked the shit out of it, then I burned it until it was a crispy critter,  and then I buried it. Obviously I didn’t kill it or bury real well, I killed it alright, but my burial lacked conviction because I found it or it found me, however one chooses to look at it.

Now, before we begin exploring, let me just add that I’m not glorifying drinking or downplaying alcoholism as a prominent problem in American society. You might here me poke fun or saying derogatory things about both, but they are based on my experience, my observation, and my own opinion. So, with that, let’s start at the end because that is where my actual journey began. When I’m done writing this today this the journey might be over, it might get buried again, and for sure the reminders (triggers) have been dealt with accordingly. So, anyway, I was looking through some boxes in my storage building for a box, which as I found, was un-labeled, that contained files I needed, to include my DD-214 (discharge paperwork) and some other VA paperwork. Back when I packed all this up it would appear that liquor boxes were what I had. Mostly because I worked at a bar, so I always liberated the sturdy boxes. I didn’t know what box the files I was looking for actually looked like because I have slept since that day. As I went through the boxes, opening around 50 or so boxes, I came across a long forgotten collection, I found 3 boxes of Crown Royal bags of mixed and varied sizes. I sat down in my chair and thought damn, this was a slap in the face I wasn’t expecting. Way back when, back in the day if you will, I used to drink allot, you may not actually be able to comprehend how much, just know it was more than the average social drinker. My drink of choice was Crown Royal on ice, and many times I just skipped the ice altogether because I kept my Crown in a freezer. When I was in the Air Force I stockpiled Crown Royal, when I say stockpiled I bought it regularly by the case or two to three cases at a time. It wasn’t because I had parties all the time, it was my personal drinking stock. When I drank with friends I drank what they had and usually allot of tequila.

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I can’t even began to phatheom the amount of Crown Royal I drank just while I was in the Air Force. Need I remind everyone that I built explosives for a living? To this day it still surprises me that I still have all my fingers. When I got my retirement orders I began to really stock up because I knew I would need Crown Royal on the cheap after my departure. I priced it out on the economy and found that I could buy it at the package store on base for right around 1/5 the cost. After I got out I drank as I pleased like there was no end to my supply for around 2 years. I always had an excuse to drink, if there is such a thing. My brother-in-law at the time, married to my baby sister, was an entertainer of sorts. He had a small band that consisted of himself as lead singer and guitar player, his sister who also sang and played keyboard, and her husband who played the drums. On occasion there were other members but my brother-in-law was such a dick that they didn’t stay that long. Anyway, every weekend starting Friday night they would play all the local dive country bars which were all b.y.o.b. (bring your own bottle) holes in the wall in the middle of nowhere at times. I don’t care for the wanging and twanging of country music much but I figured what a better place to get laid than by some drunk redneck girls. It has been my experience that redneck girls can ride for well over 8 seconds. After an ugly divorce I wanted two things in life and only two things, I wanted to drink to forget my own name and I wanted to fuck anyone who didn’t need me to remember her name.

Bonus, I could do as much as I wanted of both and nobody batted an eye at me. Not that it would have mattered because quite simply I didn’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion. About six months after getting out of the Air Force, while working for my father the concrete contractor, I found myself working on the other side of town. After an extremely long day in the heat, humidity, and the hot Texas sun, I was ready to call it quits for the day. Making my way home I drove by a bar with an advertisement I could not ignore, they were have a wet t-shirt contest, and drink specials. I was all over it. When I went in, after paying cover, I was entering the club with a mission, get drunk and find some tail. Bingo! The first thing I saw was a fantastic ass bent over the bar grabbing something from behind. My reaction? I walked up to her and smacked that ass with all my might! She jumped up so fast I almost got whiplash watching her. I knew something was up because it was all happening in slow motion and I was still 100% sober. She looked me square in the eye and TOLD me I owed her some drinks, some dancing, and a good fucking to take her mind off of how bad her ass was stinging. It’s a deal. We drank. We danced, well, she danced, I just moved around in a stuper. We drank. We made out a bit. We drank. Then I took her home, she was special.

We got married a year and a half later. Before that we spent allot of time together, I eventually moved her and her young daughter (1) into my apartment on the other side of town. She got a job and we were moving on. I introduced her to my weekend habit of going out to country gigs and life was one big party. Shortly after we got married, within the first month or so, after a night out partying, I woke up in my own puke. This wasn’t the first time, but I vowed that morning it was going to be the last damn time. And y’all know what? I’ve never looked back. Shortly after that my dad retired, leaving me without a job, so I contacted a friend of a friend of a friend who hired me as their front end bartender. My wife was worried that being in that close contact with alcohol that I would be heading back down the path of least resistance. She had no problem with it being a full nude strip bar but worried about me around all the alcohol. She had always heard it only takes one sip and all hell can break loose.

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Fortunately for both of us I had no interest in the drinking any more. No, I never really quit drinking, but I quit drinking myself just shy of a coma every night. In fact, these days I don’t drink much at all, we don’t go out to bars, and most of my friends are actually family. So far so good. Personally I can’t see myself going back, I know, never say never. What happened to the Crown Royal bags? Currently my mother-in-law has them in her possession. She wanted them to make a quilt for me. I explained I didn’t need a quilt because I don’t want the everyday reminder of what an asshole I was when I was drinking. So who knows what she will eventually do with them. No, there was no Crown Royal remaining, which is unfortunate because that makes an easy Christmas present for most of the people I know.  You’ve heard of cleaning out one’s closet, well this was my version. Oh, I found all the records I was hunting for in the first place. No telling what is in the rest of those boxes, probably shit I don’t need to be seeing anyways.

Accountability Of Reasons & Excuses

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“When people give you excuses day after day, think of them as sandpaper. Eventhough this may scratch and irritate you, you will end up polished in the end and they end up becoming useless.” The first time my dad told me that statement because I was complaining about something I don’t even remember, he told me to think about it anytime someone wants to give an excuse over a reason, therefore not wanting to be held accountable. That statement comes in to play often in my life because I really dislike 2 things people do on a very regular basis, feed me bullshit and/or lie to me. I don’t want this post to sound like a rant of sorts because the intent is purely observational. I think the main reason I ask why or wtf so often is because I have little faith that people are capable of telling the whole truth. I question almost everything because there is truth in every word spoken.

This all started a while back when I was looking to purchase a vehicle from a man around my dad’s age that I met through my wife and her involvement with the church she attends. I have bought things from him in the past and each time I said it would be the last time because of the headaches. Perhaps one day I will write about the difference between “out-of-the-box-new” and “like-new” since people seem to get that pretty confused most times. I readily accept the fact that as soon as you drive a brand new vehicle off the car dealership lot that instantaneously becomes a used vehicle. As soon as you cross the property line you are now driving a used car. I typically do not suffer from “blind faith” since I believe that each person is responsible for their own actions and their own words. It’s really to bad that the majority of people believe the exact opposite.

So, back to the vehicle. It’s actually a “daily driver”, it is a 1967 Ford F250 which has lived a little life, seen some rougher roads, and hauled a load or three. Now, what caught my eye about this truck was purely the engine because he stated that it had the original V-8 352 with the manual transmission. He said he has been the one and only owner and neither the engine or the transmission have ever had any work done. Also, he mentioned that the 423,193 miles on the odometer was what it was when it stopped working in 2001, so he estimates an additional 40,000 miles to be on the truck. I know the 1967 F250 truck well, very well, as I owned and drove it’s twin in high school, except that one was rebuilt into a hot rod that kept it’s farm charm. Let’s just say it hauled ass as well as hay! He has had this truck for sale before, marketing it as a “classic car”, which it is, but he still owns it because he is very proud and the price reflects that pride. I had shown interest in it before but was not willing to part with $17,400 for something I didn’t need. In reality, I still don’t need the truck.

My wife invited him and his wife out to the hacienda to pick up some boxes she was donating to the church which were chock full of Christmas decorations. After some unneccessary chit chat I decided to take my ass to my shop so I would stay out trouble. Shortly after he came out and to “shoot the breeze” while the women hen-pecked in the house. After complimenting my shop he blurted out that he hears I’m interested in his truck once again.  Am I? He mentioned he has dropped his price considerably and is willing to deal. I told him to drive it in to the shop because I have better light than sunlight. So, he proceeded to bring it in, pops the hood, and revs it up a couple of times. From the smell of things it is time for new rings. We looked at the truck together, discussed the things I noticed, all cosmetic things aside, the truck looked good. He tells me the price of $9,000 and I countered with $6,00, he wanted to meet in the middle at $8,000. Don’t know whose middle that was but that was the bottom if I wanted it. Sure, why not, what the hell, lets do this. I had the cash but he did not have the title. It was decided that the truck would stay at my house, the cash would stay at my house, and he would locate the title so we could finish off the deal. For nearly 2 weeks the truck sat there, good thing I have working crazy long hours and weekends so it didn’t get in the way. In the end, no title could be produced, no sale was completed, and he came and picked up his truck.

What is the big deal you ask? It’s just a title that can be replaced right? Yes to both. It ends up being that I personally should not have to deal with someone else’s issues and spend the time and money to get it replaced and then transferred. I felt that he was selling the truck and he should have been absolutely ready to do just that. During the 2 weeks I got every excuse except that perhaps the dog ate the title. Why not just come clean? Why not just admit that the title is actually lost? Why not tell me that he will take care of it all in a timely manner? Instead, I got fed bullshit, and not even a flavor I like. Why? Because he could not own the accountability of his problem and he tried to pawn it off onto me. If asked I could retrieve any of my titles within minutes of the request because I know where all of them are.

But this is just one example, this just happened to be one that has happened recently, and it proves, hands down, without a doubt, that I’m alone in my quest for wanting everyone to be responsible for their words and actions and therefore being able to be held accountable. I really wonder if it is easier to lie and bullshit then to make an effort to be forthcoming. My wife tells me I’m guilty of judging people not for what they are saying, but for what they are not saying. I used to not know exactly how to take that observational comment. Over time I realized she is right, I spend allot of my time thinking about what the person didn’t say. Oh well, I thought this little post would help me work through some things but it hasn’t. I thought I might change my mind about calling the man about his truck and just deal with it, but I still haven’t convinced myself that it is the right choice. Do y’all think people have lost accountability for their own words and actions?