Sometimes I Really Feel Like…

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…. I’m taking away somehow from things my son really likes to do by asking him to participate in different projects I get involved with. I enjoy sharing knowledge and working with my son. We often learn unexpected things when we journey into fixing things that are broken or building from scratch or refurbishing something special. I didn’t grow up with an Xbox, a computer, a cell phone, the internet, or cable. I think, selfishly, that kids, not just my own, should experience different things. Not just to learn new skills and gain new experiences, but maybe see if there’s other things they enjoy. To be honest, the best feeling for me to experience is seeing the excitement in his face when he does something on his own or when he played a large part in a project. Anyway, I saw this picture and it made me think how true the statement really is and I wanted to share.

Being The Father Of The Bride

One would think that the title, “father of the bride”, is to be dealt with lightly, but I’m here to tell you that the weight the title carries buckles the knees of the strongest men. Even I, a simple man, a man who only wants his children to be happy and healthy, has a hard time holding it all together on the ” big day”. Yes, it has finally happened, my 19 y/o daughter tied the knot this past weekend. After months of preparing, the day came and went like a gentle breeze. I’ve been to a few weddings in my life, been married twice of course, but nothing prepared me for giving my baby girl away in marriage, nothing. I’m sure at least a few of y’all are shaking your head in agreement, because you know I’m right.

I’m not going to talk much about the wedding ceremony itself, I think we all pretty much know how those go, and this wedding was no different, but this time it was my daughter who was the beautiful bride. I would, however, like to talk about the reception, because this is the place I learned how much my daughter really knew me, like deep down to my soul knew me, because she found the ways to make a normally emotionless man shed tears not only in sadness but in joy as well. I personally didn’t think I would break down in front of hundreds of people, but it happened. Let’s go back a while first, where it actually started hitting me. It was time now, after she was dressed in her gown, for me to place her garter, a garter she had not seen yet, a garter I searched high and low to find, the perfect garter for my little girl. Little did I know this was to be such a huge event, so many people were there, and the photographer catching every meaningful moment. I had no idea my special gift, my personal touch, and the beautiful garter of lace and satin would be such a “moment” for everyone. But it was, and it was a hard moment for me, it was when I realized that when the garter is finally removed she will be married. Let that sink in a moment, it hit me like a ton and a half of bricks, I was not prepared for the emotions or the brief moments of flashbacks to her childhood, or me as the proudest dad ever.

Soon, the ceremony was over, my little girl was now officially a married woman, and the next chapter of her life is beginning. I had thought I was keeping it together, remaining stoic in my composure, being the happy dad on the outside, hiding the even sadder dad on the inside. I was doing a damn fine job of it too, until my daughter decided it was time for her to give a toast. She raised her glass of sparkling grape and announced she would like to give a toast to her dad, her dad who was and always will be there for her, no matter what. There was more, much more, it grabbed my heart and began to ring out tears and emotion I didn’t even know was inside me. When she was done, when the clapping stopped, I made my way to the front of the room, going behind the table where she stood in happy tears, and we had the second biggest hug we ever had. Then it was announced that the father and daughter dance was going to commence momentarily so we needed to make our way to the dance floor. I was prepared for this once in a lifetime dance, I really was, but I was not prepared for the song she selected. Imagine being in the fellowship hall of the church your daughter was just married in and hear the first musical notes of the song “Changes” by Ozzy Osbourne sung with his daughter Kelly Osbourne, a song that I joked was about us, a song about letting go, and a song about daddy’s little girl growing up. To increase the emotional tug of our song, she had prepared a slideshow of many moments of her growing up, of her and I in the good times and bad, and our dance became the hug that I never wanted to end. So, if you were wondering why that was included at the beginning of this post you now have your answer, I hope you enjoyed it.

I close this post now trying to understand the pain and joy of one’s daughter getting married, remembering that in June of 2016 my oldest daughter will be getting married, and I wonder if I’m strong enough to do it twice. Eventhough I’ve said it a trillion times, I want to tell my daughter that she is truly loved and I wish her one thousand years of happiness. To all my readers, thanks for taking the time to share in some of my personal moments and memories today.

We Are Veterans Every Day Of The Year

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Every once in a while there is something that rubs me the wrong fucking way and typically I try to keep my big mouth shut because my words fall on deaf ears. I, and all veterans of our United States military, are veterans every single day of the year. There is not a special day like 11 November that we are magically a veteran, we are veterans whether you fucking celebrate or not. We are not fucking tokens to be polished up and displayed for your annual appreciation, we are people, we are veterans, and we are here every single fucking day of the year. I spent the latter part of this morning reading emails, Facebook posts, Tweets, Google+ posts, and texts because I was out earlier, as I am every Wednesday, spending time with my veteran friends who go otherwise unnoticed. They have been discarded at one point or another by family and friends, nobody even wants to be in their lives any longer. I’ve been visiting every Wednesday without fail for 16 years because I want to be a part of their lives. I have met many wonderful men and women who proudly served our Nation’s military. They are a group who are homeless, or jobless, or bent, or broken, or in need, or all of the above, but they are also human beings who get treated like the scum of the Earth. My question to you is why? Unfortunately I cannot be anything more than a friend to any of them. Unfortunately all I have to offer is kindness and my time. Unfortunately my smiles, hugs, and words are never enough.

On this day, 11 November 2015, a young man I spent allot of time getting to know was not at our meeting place. Early this morning he was stabbed and killed while sleeping outside under a bridge. Why? We will never fucking know. What I do know is that people celebrate only those whom they come into contact with, free meals here and there, discounts at this place or that place, partial proceeds donated to one organization or another today only, and taking the time to thank a veteran for his/her service and commitment when we show our faces. I’m not the person who you’ll see enjoying a free meal, I’m not the person you’ll see buying a new car, I’m not the person you’ll see at the big sales today, I’m not the person you’ll see getting a free haircut today, you won’t see me today because I, like all of our veterans, are veterans every day of the year.

I don’t know how you teach your children or how you were taught, but my children are taught that veterans are human beings all year long, not just on a day of remembrance, not just on other holidays, we are here every day. I’m one of the lucky ones, I have a loving, understanding family, I have a job, I have a roof over our heads, and I try to live a normal life. I know many veterans who do not, who struggle every day to survive mentally, spiritually, and physically, they no longer know the peace I feel. We are a growing number that most don’t remember until Veterans Day, but we are always here.

In closing I would like to say that I’m a proud veteran who does not regret his service to his country. I will ask all of y’all to remember that we will still exist tomorrow, the next day, and forever. All I want is kindness and a smile for myself and all veterans, show us we mean something all the time because so many veterans don’t have friends and families in their lives. I will leave y’all with this very moving poem. As a sidenote, I do not have express permission to display this poem and can only hope that nobody minds it’s presentation on my blog, it’s one of my favorite veterans poem.

JUST A COMMON SOLDIER

(A Soldier Died Today)

by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

He was getting  old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,

And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,

In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.

And tho’ sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,

All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.

But we’ll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,

And the world’s a little poorer, for a soldier died today.

He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,

For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.

Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,

And the world won’t note his passing, though a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,

While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,

But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land

A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,

Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?

A politician’s stipend and the style in which he lives

Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.

While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,

Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.

It’s so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,

That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know

It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,

Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,

Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?

Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend

His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?

He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,

But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier’s part

Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.

I Was Walking In A Circle

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I realized that my feet felt as if they weighed a ton a piece, looking down I see that I’m wading through a foot of thick mud, going towards what appeared to be the direction I was drawn to head. The closer it seemed I would get to my destination I would notice the distance increase. I was carrying a bag which seemed to get heavier by the step, I wonder what I could be carrying that could weigh so much, I wanted to open the bag but in the darkness I don’t know how I would see inside. Hearing the loud crashes of thunder I wanted to move faster, I wanted to find shelter, as I watched the flashes of lightning in the distance I wanted to get away from the tall trees, but the flashes got brighter and the thickness of trees only increased, the more I pushed the more trees I can see. Hours seem to pass before my surroundings begin to seem familiar, I’ve been here before, and before that I was here also, but where is here, why do I keep coming back, I keep finding the same path, leading me to the same damn place, I’ve been here but this place is not familiar, it’s darkness reminds me of having my eyes closed, unable to see, only being able to hear, to feel, and smell the rot in the humid air. What is that familiar smell, why do I know the soothing scent, it is pleasing to me, it makes me feel secure in a place I should know but don’t recognize. As I rest I feel each drop of the rain touch my face, rolling down the skin like warm tears. In my mind I hear Freebird, it’s loud and I hear it echo in the trees, I need to start moving now, I need to get to a safer place, this place smells of death, it smells of rotting corpses, there are thousands of them. As the light of day breaks I can see the bodies I’m walking on, wading through like mud, the blood is over the top of my boots, it’s weight is increasing with every step, I look down and see the faces, faces that didn’t see what had killed them, I know what killed them, I know what the thunder is, I know the lightning flashes, I know what has happened.

As I sit in my recliner with my eyes closed shut, telling my wife for the first time ever what it was like to see the destruction as a result of what I did while in the Air Force. The reality of it is that it isn’t a forest, it is a desert, it is a place I never want to return to, and rarely, if never, talk about it. I’ve been married for 16 years, to a wife that came along after the Air Force, she just doesn’t want to understand, and I’m okay with that. The mere fact that I’m writing about it amazes me, it still hurts, it is still fresh when I close my eyes, and I fear there are not enough pleasant memories ahead to knock it the fuck out. I spent years detached from the reality that the weapons I helped build destroyed life and property, it wasn’t me pulling the trigger, it wasn’t me hitting the target, but a simple walk down a deserted street after a carpet bombing the night before let reality set in, no longer was I detached, no longer was I innocent, and I knew then changes needed to happen or I would lose my mind. Like a good soldier I pressed forward, putting behind me horrors that cannot be unseen or forgotten. What gets seen cannot be unseen, unfortunately it is very true. My wife wants me to talk to a headshrinker, I opted out. And now I see, once again, talking about it isn’t worth a fuck, I just leave more out each time. I hope that in time, preferably before my wife has me cremated, that I just forgot about the shit and everyone else forgets it as well.

When I talk about Desert Storm and later The Liberation of Kuwait it is to educate myself and others about how the real world is, beyond the news, beyond the media, beyond what the politicians think they know. There is zero reasons I should feel guilty for being a part of the machine which is called the military. I took responsibility for my personal contributions while in the Air Force, I do not blame others, there was no gun to my head, I served, fuck it, I’m a proud veteran, I can’t ever take it back. Some of y’all understand my pain, the rest of all will never have a fucking clue, y’all are the lucky ones, the innocent ones, the ones who close their eyes without fear. Anyway, to my wife who is reading this post, I hope this has helped you, at least a little. I never asked to be anyone’s hero, I never asked for people to thank me, I never asked for people to want to take a picture with me if they find out I’m a disabled veteran, I just joined the Air Force because I wanted to serve my country because I thought I could and would make a difference. But, I can’t fix stupid and stupid wanted a robot who didn’t care, that person is not me.

Before I go, let me tell you about the one and only time my ex-wife was able to pry out of me what I didn’t want open. Y’all see, she was studying to become a sociologist and well on her way to being a social worker, she thought we could talk about it, that I would be comfortable knowing that she, of all people, would not pass judgment. When I was done talking she was in tears, she was appalled that I was part of the organization which promotes peace through the use of violence, she told me she was ashamed to be in the same room with me, ashamed to share a last name with me in marriage, and that one day I will pay for my sins of being a baby killer in the deepest, darkest parts of hell, a place reserved for rapists and paedophiles. At first I believed she was right, it matches how I feel, but soon I realized that I am a simple person who was not looking for redemption or forgiveness, I wasn’t even looking for understanding, I just wanted to know if the words I would speak would or could sound like the thoughts in my head or the memories I have or how I feel deep down in that part of me nobody gets to witness, ever. Shit goes there to be buried and forgotten, it takes time to dig it up, nobody quite understands that, scratch that, some do understand, those are the people who don’t have physical scarring but are somewhat fucked in every other way, we know what each other are thinking, not even we understand so we don’t expect others to either. We don’t look for eyes or words if pity, we do appreciate it when others respect us enough as human beings just to let things be.

My wife hugged me, long and tight, not a word spoken, with tears down her face, she told me I’m home, I’m with people whom I love and that love me, support me, and care about me. That was the best hug I have had to this day in my life, a memory I will forever cherish. My message to my wife and to my son who will read this post later is that life happens every minute of every day, take time to see the scenery, smell the rain in the distance, we only have one shot at this life so we better live it to the fullest. My daughters give me their support as well, still I wonder if they really understand or if I just get the nod. This, unless something snaps again, will probably be the last time I discuss any of this on a personal level, this shit sucks to remember, to relive, and to talk about. Some call blogging “therapy”, and it is, but not today, today is more like anger management for me. Remember, no pictures please, ever, for any reason.

For Some People, Work Is Romance

Not for me of course, but from what I understand, many romances have there beginning in the workplace. I’m not a particular fan of the whole “selfie”, however I do see the humor in it all because we all know what is on our cell phones is safe and secure. We also all know that our emails only go to the intended recipient. In the end, we put our faith, no, our trust in the powers that be, that anything we do with devices which replicate and record will not be shared maliciously with the rest of the world. Okay, y’all see thru my veil of sarcasm, you got me. But how often is this kind of shit on the news? After a little research I found that only 1% of 1% of these instances are actually reported, which leaves a whole lot of untold yet equally entertaining stories that are told as rumors and little secrets in dark places. I mean let’s look at this a moment, then I will get the story which was submitted to me to tell here, unfortunately I can’t copy and paste this one, it is really scattered around, so I was asked if I would do it as a first person teller. Many put their lives out there for the world to see. Perhaps one should scan Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr, people’s blogs, and so forth. Yea, I post shit here and on Facebook, but go back and look at those posts, nothing about my sex life, or drug habit if I had one, or any other intimate details that are nobody’s fucking business. With that, lets explore how an office “crush” turned into office “stalking” and a mess that could not be cleaned up. As a reminder, all the names and places have been changed, which is good because I don’t think any of the people in this story read my blog and if they did they would just blow it off as a coincidence or something.

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This all began with Stacy and her new job now that she has graduated from a major university up north. She moved back close to home to be somewhat close to home, close enough to visit regularly but far enough away that people have to call first to make sure she is home. After getting settled into her apartment she begins her job hunting. She immediately gets a few interviews and a few of those led to offers and she takes the one at a large company pretty far down on the food chain. College degree plus no experience equals earning a better position later. Not her dream job, but it will pay the bills and let her live a life without ramen noodles. Stacy left a serious relationship up north, one she had invested 3+ years into. Unfortunately, when they graduated she wasn’t ready to get married, settle down, have kids, and do the whole white picket fence thing, so she broke it off by just leaving like a thief in the middle of the night. Once she got into her new place she called to patch it up and things looked like they just might work out for the two of them after all.

One night she was working late on a project and got an idea of how to get her long time beau to remain interested in only her. After making sure the area was clear she went to the copier and entered his email address. This was right before she stripped of her skirt and sat on the copier, this was going to be a quick reminder to him of what he was missing now. However, apparently as she climbed up on the copier to get a good copy of her ass her hand hit the cancel button without her paying attention, so when she pushed the send button it was on the selection of “send to all recipients”, meaning she just found out she sent a picture of her ass and more to everyone in the entire company. At first she was horrified but the realized that the email was sent from the copier with the copier’s email address so no one could possibly know its her ass in the picture. Plus, she wasn’t at her floors copier because it was not working properly, so she was two floors up doing her dirty little deed. Also, she knew that there were 50 plus other women who were still working, so she was confident she will get away with it. She went home, had a hot bath, a few shots of ol Jack, and spent a few hours talking with the boyfriend, never bringing up what has happened.

On Monday she went back to her office, made way to her cubicle, and when she opened the desk drawer to put her purse away she sees a plain white envelope. When she opened it she finds her picture with a note that read “I know this is your fine little ass, you need to let me get balls deep in you or I share your secret”. At first she is confused as hell, should she be flattered or afraid. At the bottom there were instructions, she was to take a post-it note and put a smilely face on it and put it a plain view area that everyone could see if she wished to be compliant. If not then she was to do nothing. Yes, her first thought was sexual, she wondered ” balls deep” where exactly and it might be ok if he’s now hung like John Holmes. But she didn’t want to complicate her new job by having sex with someone from the office, there had to be another way, there had to be a way to turn this whole thing around. After some deep thought she decided to play the game and put the smilely face up for whoever to see. When it was time to go she was disappointed because nothing happened, all the cloak and dagger bullshit and nothing happened.

Following her regular routine in the morning she opened her bottom drawer to put her purse away and there was another envelope. This one was instructions, this one described what was going to happen next. She was to go to the motel listed, using the address provided, check in as Mrs. Smith, go to the room, totally undress, and lay on the bed waiting for him. She thought at first she would just turn this over to the police but really feared the investigation would expose her as well. She went to the motel three hours earlier than instructed to scope the place out. She wasn’t impressed. She went up to the counter to check in and do decided to do a little digging on her mystery date. The girl at the counter was more than happy to help Stacy after she was told this fantastic sex game was about to go down. He registered as James Smith but paid with his personal credit card. After a quick internet search she finds out Mr. Smith is married with two small girls. Stacy asked for the credit card number and information because she didn’t have her card on her and it was given to her. Stacy contacts a male escort service, pays the $1200.00 with his card. Her one request is that he be bisexual because there was going to be a threesome. When he arrives they have a quick meeting and he agreed to the entire plan.

Shortly after getting set up in the room Mr. Smith let’s himself in. In the shadows he could see a naked ass purched in the air as he hears Stacy’s voice telling him he only gets to fuck her ass. Acknowledging that was perfectly fine he strips and begins to go to work. Surprise! The lights come on and a fully dressed Stacy stands as she takes a few pictures of her own. He has the stunned deer look on his face as she explained that she knew who he was, his wife was, his kids, their cell phone numbers, and where they lived. What now he asks? She informs him that her new friend there on the bed that he is poking in the ass is going to repay the favor now. She films the whole thing, being sure to get a close up of the male escort pulling out just in time to make a nice mess on Mr. Smith’s face. She decided to leave, but not before delivering her own message which was if he ever mentions her picture again or ever sees it anywhere she will hand deliver this video and pictures to his wife.

She never actually had seen this guy at work in the past, she still didn’t know who he was, but she has yet to ever see or hear anything ever still to this day.

Speaking Of People Watching ……..

Okay boys and girls I have a little adventure to tell you about. Very recently I found myself at the mall with my wife, my birthday present to her was not actually a present, it was a trip to her favorite stores to pick out clothes she has wanted. The longer we are married the harder it is to get gifts for special occasions. Some of y’all might actually feel the same way, plus giving someone a gift blindly is very hit or miss, what they liked yesterday may have very well changed overnight. So, I have a bad habit, I don’t buy gifts, we go places or do something or in this case we made a special trip to the mall. In general, my wife was a little confused, for the first time I wasn’t clear about the budget, sure I had one in mind since going over the budget would have cut into the bill paying. Nevertheless, I told her that she had free reign, she knows the bank account and so forth and I knew she would “shop responsibly” in the end. Plus, as a direct bonus to me, I was there to help pick out new summer attire, that is if she actually buys anything. Usually, whether for work or for street clothes, I always get to go because she wants my “opinion”. Oh well, its just the way it is.

The first place she goes into is Victoria’s Secret, a store in my opinion which has gone seriously down hill because everything is geared toward the “teen” and everything has become tame and lame. I understand business, but I remember the Victoria’s Secret from back in the day when I was dating my ex, and it rivaled Fredrick’s of Hollywood at the time. So, the moral of the story is that if you want “trashy” lingerie you need to shop at Zone D Exotica or buy it online. How can a person buy lingerie, in general, online? Anyhow, we go in because she “needs” (wants) new bras and Victoria’s secret has convinced her over the years that she can only wear their brand bras because of her figure. At least that is the line I’ve heard from them and my wife repeat. Ok, she’s 5’2″, about 115#, where’s a size 2, and sports 36DDDs. I joked with her the other day because she was feeling her age, and in a complimentary fashion I mentioned that I haven’t noticed her age because the boobs are still rockin’ all on their own. She tells me one day they won’t be that way, yea, but that day is not today! In the store she picks out a few sets of varying colors, I know this because she tells me as we go along. I don’t personally care what they look like, however I don’t care for the padded ones since she doesn’t need help squishing the boobs out. I can always convince the employees that I need to be in the fitting room with her because she cant come out to show me and model the lingerie. In 17 years I have been told no only once, and that just turned into selfie after selfie after selfie. Other husbands sit outside, looking very uncomfortable sitting in the pink and white striped boudoir chair, holding her purse, and keeping the small children in line. So, we found one bra and panty set that she was happy with, she tried on 14 sets and some more singles. I’m not complaining, I enjoy the show, in fact I love the show, I was just saying. We wait in line, pay the $72.89, and we exit happily.

She wanted some new jean shorts, tank tops, and a new bikini. I don’t know that all of those things can be purchased in one store, but we were going to give it a shot. She likes Hollister so we started there, not my favorite store, clothes are more for the teen with an assload of daddy’s money. But, she likes their jeans and jean shorts. Being familiar with this store as she comes here allot, I know that when its time to try on everything that is there barely enough room for one person, so I know I will be riding the imitation plastic leather couch, holding her purse and the remainder of the clothes. How do you try on clothes in a 2’x2′ closet anyway? She was put in the room right by the end of the couch, I could touch the door handle I was so close. One thing I hate about this store is the over abuse of perfumes and colognes people wear in a confined space. Makes my eyes water, not good when I wear contacts. Reminds me of the VIP rooms at a strip club, mixed perfumes, mixed sweat in the chairs, spilled alcohol on the floor, it generally has such a musk that it reminds me of a funeral parlor where all of the older ladies feel they must bath in their preferred scent as if to compete with all of the others. I like a lite pleasant smell, one you don’t notice until you are close to the nape of the neck, y’all know what I’m talking about. Then, BOOM, she walks out in a pair of these jean shorts that are very tight, very short, yet still tasteful enough because her vagina isn’t eating them and spilling out the leg holes. Impressive! My wife does not get into the whole “if it zips it fits” craze. She prefers comfortably snug. She tries on a few more, same style, different colors, they all look fine enough to me, but that’s not the answer we are looking for and I know it, so I go for the white pair and the blue jean pair, both show off her tanned legs nicely. Holy fuck! Two pair of shorts were $93.89 and we still weren’t done, off to the Guess store, a personal favorite of mine.

The Guess store was an utter clusterfuck with the summer sale going on, shit everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be, employees talking and texting instead of helping people out. Luckily for us, the bathing suit section hadn’t been raped and ransacked yet, well not real bad in my opinion. She picks out three that she likes and one I was fond of because it was different. She hates all of them after trying them on, looking to old ladyish for her taste. At this point in time she talks me into driving to Galveston, about a 50 minute drive for us, to go suit shopping, she wants to go back to a place she bought hers for our trip to Florida a few years back. Sure, why not, I was done with the mall anyway. We load up her bags in the trunk of the Mustang and head to the Strand, a section of Galveston that has existed since the 1800s, now its mostly shops, bars, and restaurants. While driving through Houston in average Houston traffic, meaning it was steady and thick but moving at about 75mph, my wife slips off the jeans she is wearing, surprise for me, and slips on her new white shorts after cutting the tags off. I didn’t even see her bring them into the car. Ever want to make the women in the car next to you on the passenger side blush? Have your wife changing in the car doing 80 mph passing an SUV with the woman and her boys in the back seat gawking. We arrived safely to Galveston, park, pay, and off we are walking.

She spots a few tanks in the window of the surf shop we were walking by and pulls me inside to go check them out. She was looking for the kind one wears sans bra, its a special kind from what she tells me, got a liner in it so the person wearing it isn’t pointing at everyone looking like she is smuggling raisins. I’m good either way. This is a giant store, there are racks after racks after rack of bathing suits, even the female employees were wearing tiny little bikinis. I like this place already. It was amazing to watch the guys in the store that were there with their wives, girlfriends, friends, or significant others. While watching them watching the tiny bikini clad girls walk around, bending over with straight legs, and stretching to the point that the material of their tops was at the point of failing, which would be catastrophic, boobs everywhere if it happens., I noticed that they also were selling margaritas and daiquiris, bonus. Cheap as well, I don’t prefer frozen margaritas but two giant one’s served in a souvenir style cup with a really crazy straw was only eight bucks. I hand my wife hers and away we go to start the hunt. She picked out one style she liked, only one suit too, and without showing it to me on the hanger she disappears into the changing room. I meandered over, giving her time to wiggle out of her closes and wiggle back into the suit she is trying on. She pulls the curtain back far enough for me to tie the strings on the back for her. She closes the curtain, and we know why, she needs the time to “adjust” everything so there is nothing hanging out that shouldn’t be. The curtain rips open! There she stands, my tanned wife in a white bikini, she is looking slick, she spins in the mirrors outside the changing room, and I guess she decides she is not liking it after all. I’m instructed to stand there and guard her “stuff” while she gets another. Remember I was talking about the guys in the store, well, they aren’t shy about staring, not even a little subtle, but then again, I was pleasantly watching her walk away as well. I see an employee, half her age, helping her out, pointing around and so forth, and then my wife returns. I was told she didn’t care for the first one, the bottoms felt like they were sliding inside her and she feared a very revealing cameltoe. So, she explained she was looking for “cunt huggers” not “cunt eaters” like the one she just tried on. She gets a dirty potty mouth at all the appropriate times, but I saw her point, trust me. She finds one that makes her happy, I never got to see it either, I was told it will be a surprise. While doing a secret check out, hiding it all from me, the same employee who was helping her began talking with my wife again. Apparently she is the manager of the store and thinks my wife has some talents that she would like to employ. Yes, she offered her a job on the weekends. The pay wasn’t bad, $20 an hour plus tips, part time, no benefits, but 80% of clothing in the store as long as she was an employee. Also, she would be able to use my veteran’s discount for an additional 10% off. My wife is actually considering it, she thinks it will be fun, she likes the uniform, and she thinks she would be a help to the older crowd who are a bit shyer in their needs. She has to call her by this Friday afternoon if she wants to give it a shot this weekend.

So now we walk around some more, stopping in at many more island shops, drinking many more margaritas, and finally we got back in the car, not to go home, but to head to the seawall to park so we could go walk the beach for a while. There was a beautiful sunset, we watched the sun slowly but surely descend into the depths of the horizon. Feeling hungry we walked over to a seafood place, I cant remember the name tho for some reason, but we went in, it was very laid back, had classic rock playing relatively load, but it was the coziness of it that made it a cool environment. We ordered, we ate, we talked, talked allot about this summer and what we wanted to do, we are going to San Antonio for the 4th of July weekend, which I already knew, since it is going to be my father’s day present from the kids. To sum it all up, it was nice to go out alone with my wife, something that is very rare anymore, but this is something we both committed to change starting right then. Fine with me, that’s why I married her, to spend time with her, to be able to do things together. There are many more reasons of course, but we wanted a life together to do things together. Also, we discussed the upcoming concerts for the rest of the year, told me to pick three or four so we could go. Has my wife received a headwound? She is volunteering to see rock concerts? Nice. I mentioned our vacation to Florida two years ago, I was doing something with the kids and I get a text from my wife with this picture attached, asking me if I would join her on the beach for a walk. What do y’all think my answer was?

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My Very First Blog Post Ever

Way back in the spring of 2001 I decided I wanted to create a blog to capture some of my personal ideas, beliefs, life, and history. It wasn’t that I had (or have now) an amazing life that I needed to write an autobiography, I just wanted a place to put my thoughts, what better way than to use the new and upcoming technology then to make a blog. My roots remain intact today, I write for the purpose of being able to “talk out-loud” to a very non-specific audience. But then again, one couldn’t really even define one’s audience back then. Fortunately for me recently, I was trolling myself, y’all might be familiar with Googling yourself, a disgusting habit, but I’m sure most of us have done it at least once. Anyway, my original of the three blogs I have started pops up as a result. Intrigued, since I thought it was dead and buried long ago, I clicked the link. It remains as the day I left it, before moving on to pursue other pastures. But when I started reading the things I was writing it all came back to me. I then located my initial post. In a minute, I will share that with you. Oddly enough, I find myself concerned in similar ways with how religion changes the lives of the most honest men and women. Fortunately for me, many years has passed, but one thing remains the same, what history writes about us will never change, good or bad, right or wrong, historical facts will remained emblazoned in time forever.

I remain, still today, as seen by my last post and some real recent ones, a critic of organized religion because, more often then not, it is personal opinion. I remind each of you that I am a full supporter of personal freedoms and we all know that each individual will always be bound for the choices he/she makes. I may criticize, ridicule, and as many accuse me of, mock organized religion, it is purely my personal opinion in life and my choice to do so. I used to think I was seeking answers, shopping which version of truth and reality I wanted to see or be a part of. Slowly but surely religion began to be pushed out of my life, becoming pointless, and I really started looking into what we all know as mainstream organized religion. Although there is personal opinions in this inaugural post of mine, there are also many historical facts. Take from it what you will, but I think after this post I will be avoiding the topic we all call organized religion for many reasons I don’t think I need to go into now. The emails used to be entertaining but they have turned into another kind of beast, a beast that I had to learn to break and learn to ride like a horse with an attitude problem.

———— Begin Original Text —————–

Let’s Follow The Money …….. 

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I have studiously avoided the subject of religion and politics in past conversations face to face with people, preferring to concentrate on personal aspects of our situation in the world. But, the fucking time has come to discuss it. This will be difficult reading to some Christian patriots out there. But if you have reached the level where you can accept that our government is not, nor has been, acting in our favor; that those in power lie; that “those who would enslave us” will use any means, any vehicle to achieve that enslavement; then you must examine the evidence without the rose colored glasses.

If we are indeed in a spiritual battle across the planet, then you must be able to recognize the devil in his many guises. Correct or incorrect? Next to “government”, his favorite institutional tool must surely be “organized religion”. What better way to lead the sheeple, his captured “flock”, into slavery. In my youth and even as an adult, I found myself being very uncomfortable with organized religion. At that time in my life I was, like most Americans, totally ignorant in regards to the New World Order agenda and the plot to destroy, or override our Constitution. Intuitively, I refused to allow government or religion to exercise much of a hold on me. For many years I struggled with what appeared to me to be an unsolvable paradox; How could I love my country to the extent of serving her military and believe in a God yet be fearful of my government and apprehensive of the church and organized religion?

Certain aspects of Christianity have always disturbed me since I was a very young age. The Crusades, the Inquisition, the burning of so-called witches and the distant look in a fanatic’s eye when they realize you aren’t going to fall for their particular interpretation of the Bible. Yet Christianity and the pursuit of the freedom to practice it, is directly responsible for the founding of this country I love so dear. Christians account for less than 30% of the world’s population. Are we supposed to believe that the other 70% of the world and all of the great men who were not Christians were and are still wrong? For us to believe that any one denomination, or religion for that matter, is the only way, is to deny the omnipotence of God and the mere idea of his actual existence in body, spirit, and mind.

Religion is man’s way of dealing with his mortality and the Bible used by Christians is much more than the proprietary property of one group of people. It is the foundation of two other religions, Judism and Islam. It is, in itself, the greatest tool for the civilization of mankind in existence and simultaneously the cause of most wars, bloodshed, divorces, and disagreements. The Bible is a history of tyranny and an epic saga of the determination of a few men to lead their people out of slavery. It, and the lessons it teaches, inspired our Constitution, our Declaration of Independence and our Bill of Rights. Yet, despite the recurring theme of God guiding men out of their slavery; of God giving man his freedom; of breaking his chains and protecting his chosen ones from harm by the leaders of the day; we have, allowed our so-called leaders to use it as a tool to return us to a slavery called organized religion.

Standing on a Sacramento Mountains summit in New Mexico in 1997, looking out over the perfect harmony of earth, air and sunlight, I knew without a doubt that something spectacular existed somewhere in our vast universe. Something more to explore, something more to explain, and something more than we, as men, could possibly ever have the capacity to understand. Each of us see divinity through eyes colored by their culture and surroundings, we have the tendency to believe others are somehow wrong in their beliefs. Evil men have seized upon this practice and used it to unite us against others, often ending in us fighting and dying for someone else’s favorite interpretation. Our country was created by men fleeing religious persecution, but some of those men, in turn, persecuted the Indians who worshipped God in their own way, through nature. Is it not said that God gave us the gift of free will. When we use it to persecute, prosecute, denigrate or force our belief system on others, we are giving in to the dark side of man. When we allow our greed, our envy, our sloth or any of the seven deadly sins, to guide us, we allow evil to rein. When one man, or group of men, seek to impose their morals or their dictates on another, we have tyranny. It is even more insidious when, under the guise of religion, we allow ourselves to be led down the path of slavery once more.

How is it done? An example from our history. Before World War 1 Joseph Stalin and Franklin D. Roosevelt conspired to dominate the world. It was their job to create a tension that would lead us into a world order. With most of Russia already dominated by the Communists, it fell to Roosevelt to create the same conditions here. In his sweeping measures of 1933, he stole our gold, gave it to the bankers and replaced it with a monetary system that they could control, inflating or deflating it as needed. There was still the need for an entity to replace the failed League of Nations. Alert Americans doomed that organization but Communist spy, Alger Hiss, and his buddies were waiting in the wings with the United Nations.

So, even before the war was over, the scene was being set for the installation of  the UN as a ruling body, with the memory of Patrick Henry still fresh in their evil little minds, the “One Worlders” had to neutralize the danger of Christians becoming involved in politics. They latched upon the fraudulently used but oft-quoted doctrine of the “separation of church and state.” The  agency used to cut the balls off the church was none other than the IRS. According to this list, excerpted from a list of 30 requirements for 501(c) (3) Churches. Put out by the Department of Treasury Internal Revenue Service Pub 1826 (9-94) Cat. no. 21096G, churches must:

1. Be incorporated (BECOME A BUSINESS)
2. Have a recognized creed and “IRS approved form of worship.”
3. Have “IRS approved code of doctrine”.
4. Have ordained ministers educated in “state accredited colleges.”
5. Be “neutral on political issues.”
6. “Have tax exempt status issued by IRS.”
7. Pastor must answer to the IRS as to “daily activities of the church.”
8. The IRS must be privy to “all financial transactions” of the church.
9. Pastor must supply “names of all donors”- make books records available.
10. May only use “IRS approved” fundraising methods.
11. Pastor will be “called to account over any stand taken against the tax system.”
12. Church “must advocate and support racial integration.” (Multiculturalism)
13. May “not” engage in activities “opposing pornography.”
14. May “not” support legislation saying “children belong to parents” rather than state.”
15. May not form a Political Action Committee nor support legislation “opposing lotteries and gambling activity.”
16. May not “oppose the public school system.”
17. May “not publicly declare” we are to “obey God rather than the government.”

These requirements only pertain to churches that want to escape paying taxes. Most businesses cannot operate at a profit today because of taxes. In fact, most small businessmen are either forced to cheat on their taxes and lie to the government simply to make ends meet and to feed their families. So the government which stole our gold in 1933, led us into a world war, imposed illegal taxation and adopted the 10 Communist planks verbatim, as stated in the Communist Manifesto, and has now invaded your churches and now controls your religion, as of 1942. Our pastors, preachers, priests and rabbi answer to the government, not God. The obedience of the Christian Coalition to the Republican party, the refusal of the ministries to endorse a true leader or to expose political corruption is now explained.

Meanwhile, Bible reading Christian Home-Schoolers are prosecuted, their children taken away because the “government court” believes unauthorized, unsupervised reading of the Bible (or the Constitution) is somehow dangerous! Guess what? They’re right! For when you read the Bible without the blinders of “organized religion” you realize you are in a constant battle against evil to maintain your freedom. If you aren’t against it, you are unwittingly for it. The Word the Bible teaches is hushed up in Church. The word you get, when you read it right, is FREEDOM. The ironic part of all this is that no religious leader has had the guts to stand up to the system, to expose the part the bankers play, or to break through the primarily Jewish control of the media. Only Louis Farrakan has been able to organize an effective protest against the new enslavement of Americans. He was able to organize a million man march and speak out against this creeping Fascism called the United States government while a white patriot group was only able to amass a few hundred. Dick Gregory led a demonstration against the CIA drug running. For all our espousal of the Constitution, God and Country, we lack the effort to bring organized religion back into control.

Feel free to look into the finances of organized religion and you will find deceipt, corruption, idolism, and money funding things you don’t even want to think about, it’s ALL a piece of history now.

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As I reviewed this very first post of mine before re-posting it here I see I used to be a little fucking angry. At what specifically or exactly why I don’t really know today. But, life was different for me back then, I had just got out of the Air Force, been divorced, and starting a new life, to include a new wife. I wasn’t a very big fan of people back then, it has taken me years to pinpoint why, but as I get older I am able to see better. Does this post from a long gone era justify my way of thinking towards organized religion today? Absolutely not, but the point I want to make is that the further I got away from religion, politics, the military, and a cheating cunt wife, I found that things began to make sense. Men are evil, nobody can deny it, it is a fact proven every single damn day. We, as human, look for a root and reason, and some continue to follow an outdated way of thinking, a way that uses FEAR as a primary tool. Do you really think that this is the right approach? Sure, we are people, we need organization, we need to be able to herd together in gatherings, but we also need room to be able to think for ourselves without being condemned for pointing out flaws in organized religion, man, government, and society.

As mentioned at the beginning of this particular post, I think I will steer away from writing about religion of any sort simply because it is taxing on the mind. It has come crystal clear that no matter what, its all just my opinion. Maybe I’m the one who is butt-hurt.  I’m tired, bored, and disappointed in many things about the response this blog gets. Most of all, I realized there are many angry motherfuckers out in the world that don’t want to see anything at all. So be it, tour is now officially over. I will be returning to posts about weekends, sex, naked women, vacations, family, tattoos, music, food, cars, guns, military, The United States of America, and all the other things, people, and places I like in this world. I would like to stay away from the negative impact that religion has had on me and the world in general. If you want depressing shit about your religion just turn on the ol’ boob tube and cook your brain a little while there. Anyway, I really appreciate ALL of the email that has been coming in, even those wishing I would go to hell, ALL very appreciated. So, well, fuck, where are we taking this little ‘ol blog from Texas? I figure it like this, since I’m already driving on the road headed to hell then I better make it a road trip to remember. With everything being said, I think, all there is left to say is to remember to eat it every day, your lady will always appreciate your continued efforts.